It was a spring warm atmosphere,
On that green grass she lay so near,
Her silken skin, her freckles ow dear!

Her eyes deeply charmed my heart,
Cursing my soul and intensively dart,
A magic kiss straight to the heart,

A whispered bane of her kissable lips,
A wicked glance and a charming glimpse,
Pierce my sanity that never could I part,
Her Seraphim countenance from the start.*

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UNSPOKEN

Late, she came that morning,
And next to him she sat,
Towards him she was leaning,
Her perfume he could scent,
His heart blended a feeling,
That he could never forget.
She spoke to him so little,
A sweet voice, a gentle fiddle,
That made his heart twiddle,
As a dance or a romantic riddle.
He had to keep it for himself,
Unfold like a book on a shelf,
-Eagerly, lustfully written,
  Secretly, silently hidden-
He went further to dream,
A non-sense fictional stream,
Imagining what would seem,
Like a fancy illusion to deem,
His fate of having her for real,
But soon all of that would steal,
His attention to notice a gleam,
Of vivacious sun rays that beam,
Her skin light as a glittering cream,
With pink sublime shaped lips,
So elegant, heavenly made ideal,
To which his wicked desires kneel.
For every artful kiss on the cheek,
Went a feeling sensual and deep,
Till their eyes were meant to meet,
Exposing what he thought in secrete,
"Alas! a fool I am to conceive,
Such beauty into such conceit,
It shall never happen."
Cowardly, he said inbetween,
Fake glances of his childish deceit,
In a futile trial to hide and conceal,
What he thought to be absurd conceit,
That could be a fairytale so sweet,
She felt the same, he never knew.
A secret tale by a heartbeat,
He kept it untold; unspoken,
Between the lines forgotten,
Thus it is, a fairytale incomplete.


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She woke up helpless and had no clue,
-What time it was- or what to vainly do,
She could never see, but hear their steps,
Chime in that vacant dark hall,

She wanted to speak it loud, to scream,
She couldn't wait seekinga  light beam,
She wanted to know any whereabouts,
She wanted to **** all wonders and doubts,
'' Where am I?" said she.

She knew everything but what was happening,
She knew everything, but all was vaguely dark,
This **** food she shared with a rat,
Which, she ironically named and jack,

Jack, he, who happens to be full of romance,
He, who happens to be a charming prince,
He, who happens to come on a white horse,
Recklessly swinging his sword cutting their heads,
He who used to passionately kiss her lips,
Making her heart melt within a glimpse,
He who happens to be a lover never seen again,
They took her soul when taking him away,
She was a mere corpse, already dead.

Suddenly,
the door of the cell was slammed in a burst,
Voilently opened erupting the floor's dust,
They were there, executioners and a grumpy priest,
Light has made her blind, that beam of light,
Which she has always  eagerly sought,
She went blind, for a while, until she reached the mighty blade of the guillotine.*

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I sat there, alone.
I sat there alone, for hours.
I sat there alone, for long days and nights.
I sat there alone, for months depressed and sour.
My Goldfinch, in a clumsy state of being,
In the same corner, she got sick of seeing, the same walls around her, the same walls around me.

I took a moment in that inspiring hour.
I wondered what made her so sick of a life of a coward.

I wondered what if,
I wondered what if I had her wings,
I wondered what if she had what I had, being free.
I thought of how things would have been,
Of her soaring, wandering in places I've never seen.
I took her to the roof in a rush, opened the cage, and sat her for once free!
She spread her wings, in a joyful spirit, free.
Time froze that iternal moment of hope, of her to fly with my dreams far, further than I could ever reach.

She flew, shaked her wings. For once, twice then thrice.

To the ground, she fell, unable to fly.
It is too late, that cage got the best of her. Those four walls got the best of me.

Free,

We will never be.

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I became a poet
In the hopes of becoming someone's poem