I was lured to the garden by the scent of fresh berries
With fruit so fresh as if it tended by faeries
I plucked a morsel from an extending branch
And without hesitation, put the pome to my lips
Savoring it for a sweet moment before devouring it whole
Eagerly lapping at my stained finger tips
So enamored I was by each bright sensation
I was unaware of the nettles, whose spines crept and settled
Sinking into my flesh, and poisoning the bone
First there was an itch and then a sharp pain
As I was torn away from what I couldn't lay claim
And what at first seemed a garden was but a damp grave
The plant tags were tombstones
Of others who’d strayed
And as I fell prone from my festering abrasions
My eyes becoming dark and my senses dulled
I realized I was nothing but a number in the faeries' death toll
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 1:32 PM UTC
I was lured to the garden by the scent of fresh berries
With fruit so fresh as if it tended by faeries
I plucked a morsel from an extending branch
And without hesitation, put the pome to my lips
Savoring it for a sweet moment before devouring it whole
Eagerly lapping at my stained finger tips
So enamored I was by each bright sensation
I was unaware of the nettles, whose spines crept and settled
Sinking into my flesh, and poisoning the bone
First there was an itch and then a sharp pain
As I was torn away from what I couldn't lay claim
And what at first seemed a garden was but a damp grave
The plant tags were tombstones
Of others who’d strayed
And as I fell prone from my festering abrasions
My eyes becoming dark and my senses dulled
I realized I was nothing but a number in the faeries' death toll