I live in an old forgotten castle,
Engulfed in a vast blanket of shadow,
Where without reason, there rustles the leaves
Evermore by the cold clandestine wind.
In the ever-laughing embrace of time,
I try to speak, but long gone is my voice.
What is silence, but an ominous voice?
It's presence is known through out thine castle,
An echo growing lonely through out time,
And I, it's victim, for it stole my shadow!
Why do you bite me so, oh vengeful wind,
Because it was I that rustled the leaves?
Beneath the white, white snow I am the leaves!
Endless flakes falling, ignoring my voice.
Done away with and never to feel wind.
These once grand corridors of thine castle,
What have you done, oh malevolent time?
Soaked in ignorance and lovely shadow.
Do I yearn for the familiar shadow,
As Mother tree misses her little leaves?
In these woods I seek a faraway time,
Where there floats real sound and a friendly voice.
But in my dreams it spoke in thine castle!
Could it be? Was it real?... or just the wind.
What message do you convey, oh weary wind?
For how lost you must be in my shadow.
I feel around the dusty shelves of castle,
Searching through the dry and desolate leaves,
Harboring books filled with glorious voice!
For once I am thankful for endless time.
I've ran out of wax! Where have you gone, time?
The wick caught fire, but loving was the wind.
But did you not hear my hesitant voice,
As I walked slow through perilous shadow?
These mural portraits, showing strange green leaves.
But they've always been gray, silly castle!
Wind and leaves, I'm afraid you've been mislead,
Finding a shadow, never there, for so long a time!
Was there ever voice in thine castle?
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013
She played with pride and vanity in the mirror
with crimson rouge she painted a mask.
No tear would fall, for she forsook weeping,
because in her mind her beauty was the truth,
whereas the lie remained unending
but she believed a pretty face is always beautiful.
If a pretty face is always beautiful
then surely in soft tongue speaks the mirror
Whose hollow compliments are ever unending.
Now it is never safe to take off that mask
So the mask morphs into the truth?
No wonder you can hear the quiet weeping.
She cannot bear the sight of weeping
since an ugly cry ruins the beautiful
and she can never accept the ugly truth
so quickly she must hide from her foe, the Mirror.
What if torn from her face is the mask?
She fears the insults will be unending.
If the insults are truly unending
it is the beginning of a lifetime of perpetual weeping
fate, not glue, has sealed her face to the mask.
At least her prison is beautiful,
or so says the honest mirror
since the damnable thing supposedly reflects truth.
How dare that vile thing speak the truth!
The pain caused has been unending,
if she shatters the mirror
Will it stop her weeping?
No, she was cursed to be beautiful
by her smotherer, the Mask.
Chokes her slowly does the Mask.
A noose is only equal to the truth
and a blue face is never beautiful
And now the threat of death is never unending.
How can she mourn with weeping?
Since she put her own disguise in the mirror.
She could not bear the mirror's sad truths
and her mask's deceptions were unending
so weeping became her friend and she pretends that lies are beautiful.
By: Chelsea P. Stone
Copyright © Chelsea P. Stone | Year Posted 2017