From an aerial view, the sight of a beautiful red train
chugging along down the railway track
takes my breath away;
One moment I am watching a funnel shaped smoke stack sending puffs,  
up towards the white cottony clouds then disappearing,  
and the next I am hearing the sound of a whistling blowing.
A melodious voice is heard as a conductor enounces,  
"tickets please,"
Out of my pocket I produce an admission ticket
that was long overdue ...
With one cotton white glove he presses the ticket
between his fingers then holds it up to his gold monocle and smiles ,
"welcome aboard then !"
He traipses over to supposedly important passengers that I cannot see  
and leaves me sitting there, wondering about our destination.
How I got so lucky as to enter this magical snow train I have no idea,  
but the scent of this leathery kirlian man, still clings to my thoughts
like a revenant moment from a long forgotten past.
To Be Continued...

Quote by author: Angel feather colors hold no meaning,
if the messenger of God is not a paragon of virtue.

Every year she wore the plumage with such grace
and her beauty raptured every being around the liquid festival
Caribana black and gold tassels pasted on each tender ******
She lost herself in a night of debauchery.  One that took her further away from truth and the love that she so hungered for.
dance little lady dance
by a ***** man's glance
you don't stand a chance
That night she went too far and ended up by the side of the river. Her face streaked of mascara dripped onto a shattered heart, and turned into a million shards of glass.  A celebration of life turned deadly cold beneath the winds of deceit.  Sand blown bits of broken moon entered her soul as she lay still on the ground.  Heaven's stars muted stunned, held space as  
a concrete angel
invisible but able
touched by a glacial pulse  
noticed she was still breathing but scarcely, so wrapping the dying girl in feathers woven from God's fibrous root, she washed the red off her soaked plumage, and cleaned up her wounded back.  Two vestal hands bathed her with life's essence, and just like that, she was born again.
"Choose Life" was the last thing she heard uttered to her faint ear.   Then she heard the sound of a beautiful silence, as the Angel of God spread her glorious veiny wings and flew away.
the grass held its dew
and the wind blew
a woman child grew
Copyright © Mystic Rose Rose | Year Posted 2023

Cackles were heard from down under on a hill far away
fifty little saucy spiders scurry helter skelter out to play
A hefty witch stirs her cauldron next to her Bagoon
snake eyes spoon an evil mush as feet dance around the room
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead
The stars in heaven grow fangs and the moon wears a skirt of thorns
chainsaw demons flee the sky with decapitated scorn
Oh my oh my Halloween frights are here, although the night is young
old smelly garlic garlands have been strung,  
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead
She's here to petrify, terrify, horrify and glorify her trade
when they get here they will drink purple blue Kool-aid
Oh Gee Oh Gosh she has lost her pompadour galosh
perhaps its hiding in the pumpkin squash
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead.