and so it flowed along the floor,
newly waxed and cleaned and polished,
just for the occasion.

it had layers upon layers of beauty
and she felt exquisite

The Prince looked upon her
in all her jewels and silks and satins

and felt nothing for her.
and so he turned his eyes away.

and looked upon his servant boy for comfort...

which he found without delay in the servant's face.
in his eyes...
and his lips...
curling up in just the slightest way,
almost undetectable.

her brush strokes
erupt on the page
leaving a fury of colors in its trail.

singing songs of feeling
of emotion
and rage

when the bristles
are close to withering out
it's voice grows raspy and pained

so it returns to its home:
familiar,
nourishing,
and chaotic

that fireplace was a threshold for memories.

it was made of a brick,
red as you like,
that was older than you could imagine.

the fireplace had watched the families
sit before it for years,

it knew more stories than it could tell in a years time

The trunk was old,
older even than the old woman who it belonged to.

She had followed the trunk’s singing,
a harmony unlike any other she had heard before.

The song had beckoned her,
teasing her with the promise of adventure,
coaxing her with the hope of something new in her life.

It led her to a small door,
hidden behind old dresses
wrapped in plastic and smelling of her grandmother,
it had been waiting for someone to find her,
waiting for excitement.

they snagged on her gown
as she attempted to flee
the retched night that had gone horribly wrong,

they worked with the enemy
to ensure she would not escape this town,

piercing her satin embroidery
and tearing at the draped silk,

hooking into her flesh, softer than a rose’s petal.

she gasped as pain struck her
and little rivers of blood streamed down her skin

nice and freshly cleaned, she ran her nimble fingers down the strings that she easily tied around her waist.

it was embroidered with the same black stitching throughout,

giving her a lovely figure and a hint of mystery he adored…

with petals as white as the moon herself
the flower floated on the water
with the geisha watching from her window
she unraveled her long black hair
and gazed at the lilies
their dew shone in the light of the setting sun
and as the last light of day dimmed down,
she left the flowers in her secret pond
and returned to her tower above