It wasn't the pain I was afraid of,
dripping acid between my toes.
It wasn't the eyes following me,
an oddity, wearing a bow.
It wasn't my mother's warning,
that it was time to let go.
It was my understanding dawning,
that my life was a comedy show.
Gawked at by bemused eyes.
Spectators, in awe of their own lies.
Ink is blood, and the pen a blade
Yet, it is not paper I write upon - but skin
It's quiet here
Cacophonous roar of silence
Amongst the deafening traffic of people
I dream of green isles
Across oceans vast and tumultuous
Of stark cliffs and pastures disordered
I dream of a land unfamiliar and strange
Of hobbit holes and twisted trees
Of desolate cruelty and quiet peace
Of frozen rivers and stark plains
I dream of a land I had known well as a child
For its pages I travelled through
In pursuit of dragon gold and mithril steal
I dreamt of such a land, I imagined myself sword in hand
I trodded beside dwarven armies
I confronted a dragon gilded in gold,
My heart bled across crumbled pages,
I wept bitterly for friends lost.
I dreamt of a land unfamiliar and strange,
Yet within, I found a home.
As a kid my only form of escape was through the pages of a story. As an adult - this hasn't changed. Books are freedom.
Little feet followed faithly,
trusting the eldest ahead.
Fear of snakes were wavered.
Cattle watched with a curious eye.
Muddy, barefoot, eyes searching the trees above.
Patiently waiting for the flutter of wings.
Listening for whistled whispers on the wind.
Shhh - she whispered, gazing ahead.
Hear the drums of the goblin fleet.
Across the gully and trickling stream.
Two armies of glimmering gold shall meet.
Quick, crouch and hide low!
We cannot allow the battalions to know,
That children of man observe below -
A battle of fairy magic and goblin greed.
A battle of desperation and need.
Goblins advancing to sacred land
a hollowed sycamore, edged in armoured hands.
The day draws long, shadows rise upon the fight.
Soon, the armies shall depart, to trees high and tunnels low.
For they fear more - the creatures of night
Tired and weary,
Longing for shelter, among
The fae folk of old
Firelight and starkness
I lie awake and pray for darkness
Shape me, forge a fake
Allow the clone to live in my stead
Allow her to be adorned in leftover thread
Allow her to walk roads untread
Paths avoided for battles lost
The forests edged in fairy frost
Allow the other to be greeted by my name
Allow her to bathe, unashamed
But I? I shall walk away
Into darkness, I no longer pray