Undaunted by the scorner's scoffs,
The nosy earwig, or the multi-pedian
Myriapods of discontent—
She
Believed in flying.
Her essence distilled in threads,
Tender-binding, silken strands
That wrapped her plump, ember-body
Round and true (As a seed).
Moon and sun orbited her cocoon,
Stars trailed by in a milky gauze;
A new world evolved within a Word.
At last,
Lucency called her out.
So, leaving the ground behind
For the bliss of air-spent ways—
She gave her grace to wings.
YOU ARE READING
Prickmedainty Poetry
PoetryFor all those who broke their glass slipper and still search for stars in the shards.
