I am going to sleep;
To think of songbirds, flowers,
The bluest of skies, the songs
Of the fae folk, which have ne'er
Sounded sweeter than when played
'Neath imaginary glades
Upon which the sun smiles down.
Betwixt the toadstools, the fae folk
Dance, little dresses in each colour
Of the rainbow flitting about,
Much as dewdrops do
On the grass upon the break of dawn.
Gentle laughter rings through
The trees, chiming like the sweetest
Little bell. I know not what they say,
But their dainty faces beam
With all the joy of the sun
And the mystique of the rising moon.
I know better than to take what they offer,
Lest I be trapped amongst them forever,
But a part of this youthful heart ponders
Whether it would truly be
So very bad?
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
