Of Orchards, Thyme, and Crooked Fairytales
It was the music
That caused her to buckle
And fall
To her knees
That mad
Mad melody
Mingled
With her earthy messiah’s
Sweet words
Naked,
She knelt…
The last lovely thing
In a patch of withering
Flowers and sharp
Honest thorns
The piece of apple
Finally
Dropped from her mouth
Along with all her sacred hopes,
Beliefs and childhood dreams
I watched from behind the reeds
Bug-eyed…
Spindly legs thrown over
The bank,
Toes barely gracing the water
And waited…
Waited…
For my fake snow white,
My pretty porcelain doll
To smile…
Pull more than tears from
Her chipped little face
And die…
...Ave adore...
Smashed
White faces
Drown in this,
My final and falsified
Crimson-laced prayer
|
|
