I read a lonely book
Her pages torn and grey
At night an unnamed crook
Takes her youth away

Her stitches all are broken
While her pictures, all are jaded
Some words are blurred and shaken
While some are gone and faded

My eyes tried to wander
Decipher what she means
But her days are short in number
Just like her cruel schemes

Her stories all are ancient
Legends, tales of heroes
A memory of olden ambient
And his untouched burrows

I read half her pages
I touched them cold and torn
And like battles between sages
Curiosity was born

I slowly turned her parchment
Too careful, too unwise
But I ruined off our engagement
And she broke to my surprise

The pages tore and fell
Down the wretched earth
I heard the shriek of hell
The loss of life and birth

Tears filled my eyes
The story stopped, twas pending
Until I came to realize
It was devoid of a happy ending

3 thoughts on “1803

  1. i is a big fan of fairy tale poetry. It’s a sort of back to basics mode of expression but works with our generation’s themes and motifs even if we still share the same angst as the older kids. I am not a fan.

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