Cinderella Is Dead
In my perfectly ironed attire,
I seek the one I desire.
Here I am, at the ball,
Planning to catch your fall,
I hear you in my mind as your luscious eyes call,
Pride in my chest, as I stand so tall
With the glass shoe in my hand, our eyes meet
Our bodies greet
And by your side I place a seat
With the glass shoe in my hand, I place your foot in
And your foot does not fit
As the men around us laugh and grin
My heart more silent than a pin
As the hair rises on my skin
My jaw drops along with my chin
I was so sure you were the one
But I forcibly left instead
I was carried away in stun
And realized that the old fairy tale was dead
Copyright © Bilal Hb | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment