Like The Count Of Monte Christo Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Black fatigue, pains and aches to the delight of
every spiritual healer who claims every disease
is psychosomatic in origin, obviously my anger
at the miscreant who hurt a very dear person -
who is too far my fury cannot be spent, I cannot
take revenge; like the Count of Monte Christo

A righteous fire burns within my breast and I wish
life would put me to the test to right a wrong by
making him experience her pain, I do not believe
in leaving this to the universe, feeling sure such
people need to learn and I can help by applying
the same aggression to him

Afterwards I shall kindly help him up, gather the
spilled contents of his head, drag him to emergency
and leave him there, then I shall feast with my sis
we shall dance and sing with joy and laugh about
this wonderful world in which we are free to begin
again to seek the fun we missed before

We shall gambol our way through every chore,
leave the Cinderella-years behind, be our own
Prince Charming and save ourselves, master
every pain, we shall rest in the nirvana of sisterly
love and spread our giggles like flowers about,
we shall wreak havoc upon our enemies

Until we reach a frequency where they are no
more and we can live as we please in unbridled
joy and happiness!