with an awe in her eyes
she watched the magician
standing on the enormous stage
he pulled out roses
confetti, pigeons,
then a bunny,
out of his hat
there was magic in the room,
running through her veins,
stuck in the atmosphere
the light electricity flickered with tension,
the crowd amazed, bewitched even
she stood there
in the middle of the of them all
and she believed
as the magician handed her the blood red roses
out of nowhere
she felt special
"these were meant for you,
young lady,
for what could ever reflect your beauty,
inside and out,
better than the roses born of true magic"
his words dripping from his lips
slowly as the sweetest honey
covering centuries old wounds
healing her soul, relieving it of her pain
but as the show went on
and the fresh roses turned to dust
she started to notice
the things she saw
weren't what they seemed to be
the pigeons flew away, never to be seen
the bunny turned to plush
the house of cards collapsed
the roses turned to dust
and her?
she still stood there
she still stood there, questioning everything
YOU ARE READING
You hold my heart (still)
Poëzieour little mythology A collection of short poems and prose I've been working on these for the last two years, and finally felt good enough to collect, rewrite and edit it, so here we go. I'm finally done. And moved on. New chapter coming.
