Twice removed,
The boy moves through life,
Poppies and death at his door.
He is all Grimm tales & glitter.
I tend the fire in my rags,
But I am beautiful,
Flames at the edge of my skirt,
Violins from the hills,
And he unaware
That I am the queen of swords.
A hundred years ago in the dance hall
I wore a flower on my breast
And moved in absentia.
In between worlds
I was part of the singing dead,
Wayward in the final scheme.
Leave A Comment