Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2065983
Let the others talk; sometimes the wisest man will play the fool.
|That elusive shadow haunting the moongloom|
whispered — testing, teasing and warning me away.
My spooky Seelie1 played the strings inside my hollow shell,
strummed up the urge to follow her
beyond the sands to darkened woods.
The pixie prophesied my dreams undying:
promises that roused my slumbering spirit —
not forever barren, no matter how buried
the desert winds had left this man's desires.
I heard the lore, and counted well the price
of answering my dearest siren's quest;
then, with eyes wide open, I scattered
all my treasures to chase that inhuman crown.
As I return — banished — to mortal home,
I carry only burned-out trinkets:
no magic beans, nor talking cow,
no proof at all of what transpired.
Sadder, wiser, yet vastly richer I am
for having trespassed in the sacred woods,
drunk forbidden wine, and camped in faerie clover
as I reveled with that mad, enchanted princess
who flooded me with luscious spring
and branded me between the beats of my heart —
only to leave me filled with the glittering desolation of winter.