Wednesday, May 11, 2011

If the child spoke
silk tressed, small mouthed,
what would issue forth?
What nightmares?
A whispered no!
'But you are my princess.'
And so, the child
forgot to speak.
Silk tressed, small mouthed,
world closed, dreams held,
hope stopped, ribbon tied,
drawer held; shut
from the time of knowing,
of all being, of doing
beyond child things;
becoming woman
in a fearful dream
with the prince
made devil.
The demon speaks,
hard voiced, heart held,
lips closed, eyes closed,
heart closed.
The soul near death
gave whisper no more.
Silence. Stillness.
Body stopped
until the fairy queen,
eternal master mistress
comes to take away
the spell.
Cream touched thoughts
fell softly and the wish
was made.
If the child spoke
what would she say?
Such a new sharp voice,
not used, crisp born,
fresh, dried, cracked
and angrily ancient.
Crone mutterings
of all that lives within,
hag screechings
of all that has been done.
If the child spoke
she would say:
Help me!
The marriage is over.


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