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Literature Text
I was the fairy
with the twinkle in her toes.
She leaves twinkles of glitter
wherever she goes.
I was the ghost
with the gaunt little face,
She leaves blotches of blackness
all over the place.
I was the brownie
with the perfect intention,
She leaves parcels and presents
wherever you'd mention.
I was the imp
with the plans and the tricks,
She leaves clusters of chaos
wherever she picks.
But where would I be
without magic or might?
I'd have to be me...
Not a chance.
with the twinkle in her toes.
She leaves twinkles of glitter
wherever she goes.
I was the ghost
with the gaunt little face,
She leaves blotches of blackness
all over the place.
I was the brownie
with the perfect intention,
She leaves parcels and presents
wherever you'd mention.
I was the imp
with the plans and the tricks,
She leaves clusters of chaos
wherever she picks.
But where would I be
without magic or might?
I'd have to be me...
Not a chance.
=divafica
Written for #poetry-book's 'Scratch That' Round 5 (Fantasy Ballad). Wish me luck!.
More like this:
Written for #poetry-book's 'Scratch That' Round 5 (Fantasy Ballad). Wish me luck!.
More like this:
GlassI always laugh when you refer to me as glass.
Not just because of the way you say it,
(glass-as-in-gas).
Or because I know it's a crack at my fragility.
Glass is pure.
I am like granite -
my body nullified from too many clashing traits.
Glass is transparent.
I am like clay -
illegible from all the plastered smiles.
Glass is unyielding.
I am like chalk -
easily broken and scuffed away by meagre things.
Glass is hung up on walls and in great cathedrals,
tinted for enhancement, but only ever painted on by fools.
I am hidden behind keypads and camera lenses,
coated in a thick paste of deceptiveness.
No, my love,
I was never glass. (Despite
Our Dead-End RomanceIt wasn’t a romantic setting.
We were crouched together in the alleyway behind McGregor’s pub
where smells of substandard alcohol and cigarette smoke stained the air
and the muffled song of drunks could be heard from inside, seeming to leak through the walls.
Only, those weren't things I noticed that night.
Instead, I noticed the smell of his cologne, a smell I recognised only from chilly days on the beach.
Like sea salt blown through cold wind,
and I noticed the sound of his steadfast breaths:
hot and sharp, but reliable; comforting.
As I buried myself in the radiating folds of his shirt
he whispered that I was his world
and s
Drowned in DecemberThey're wet (these short days),
yet superb: crisp chills; sweaters
and cheer enliven me.
© 2013 - 2024 divafica
Comments5
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Astonishing words!! I really loved this piece of art 
Magnificent ~
Magnificent ~