In grey halls, silent and cold
I glanced through a window
and you flew in - a petal of lavender, speckled with brown -
you fell to me when the wind gave in,
and tickled my skin.
So I smiled, and you stood up,
growing tall until you were fully formed.
But your limbs looked like mine,
and your petals bore a face.
So I took your hand and we started running,
through parched field and empty stream
drenched in orange summer spectacle.
the cicadas buzzed and whirred,
And we hummed along,
doing our best to join in.
You looked at me and smiled,
And told me of magic and beautiful things
that could enliven, brighten,
and even bring warmth to the cold.
So I asked where they were,
and you look distressed.
But I pressed again, and again, and again,
So you gave me a garment of leaves and string
which had hung from your back
and I felt warm and ran away,
while you cried and stayed put.
But my mother, she so proud and all-knowing,
at once knew who I was
and what I was holding!
condemning my act and demanding I return,
She shooed me away; with tears I ran out.
Deep underground, I buried my shame
but it soon sprouted stems,
and dark leaves grew too.
when its legs took form, it followed me home
but no one could see it,
a pale, shriveled child
with no arms or ears
that screamed as I moved,
and no one could hear.
so I grew afraid,
falling ill I withdrew.
The warmth had left, and the sun turned to black,
And my room became stone, with locks on the door
The girl soon returned
cognizant, but not loving
and she smirked and she danced
and sang as she moved
I felt cold and remorse, like I’d never yet felt.
She offered reprieve, but not like before
and i cursed her and yelled,
so she left, out the door.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
In grey halls, silent and cold
I glanced through a window
and you flew in - a petal of lavender, speckled with brown -
you fell to me when the wind gave in,
and tickled my skin.
So I smiled, and you stood up,
growing tall until you were fully formed.
But your limbs looked like mine,
and your petals bore a face.
So I took your hand and we started running,
through parched field and empty stream
drenched in orange summer spectacle.
the cicadas buzzed and whirred,
And we hummed along,
doing our best to join in.
You looked at me and smiled,
And told me of magic and beautiful things
that could enliven, brighten,
and even bring warmth to the cold.
So I asked where they were,
and you look distressed.
But I pressed again, and again, and again,
So you gave me a garment of leaves and string
which had hung from your back
and I felt warm and ran away,
while you cried and stayed put.
But my mother, she so proud and all-knowing,
at once knew who I was
and what I was holding!
condemning my act and demanding I return,
She shooed me away; with tears I ran out.
Deep underground, I buried my shame
but it soon sprouted stems,
and dark leaves grew too.
when its legs took form, it followed me home
but no one could see it,
a pale, shriveled child
with no arms or ears
that screamed as I moved,
and no one could hear.
so I grew afraid,
falling ill I withdrew.
The warmth had left, and the sun turned to black,
And my room became stone, with locks on the door
The girl soon returned
cognizant, but not loving
and she smirked and she danced
and sang as she moved
I felt cold and remorse, like I’d never yet felt.
She offered reprieve, but not like before
and i cursed her and yelled,
so she left, out the door.