Sharing with The Sunday Muse #126.
Swan maiden? First it was goose girl,
child of the village who tumbles getting water,
lost in the dark forest hanging over the gate,
Born under a sign exploding over castle
Built a hundred years ago
And now? The swans are returning
Midnight-black and friendly as pigeons!
So I'm the swan maiden,
the candle in the mine,
the peasantry's reparative marriage.
A flock of black swans follows me
Even in eider-white,
Even when I'm barely taller
Than a heraldic wingspan.
Go find your fixes elsewhere!
Build a girl from tinker's bits
Or from the ripped aprons
Or from the forest's leaves!
I'll march this flock back to the stars
Before we fill the castle's pillows
With dreaming, darkwing down.
-- Chrissa
This poem swirled me into a magical fairy tale Chrissa and those last lines are captivating!! I can relate to your stressful dreams. I know how exhausting that can be. Wishing you a peaceful week ahead.
ReplyDeleteThe poem itself is very dreamlike, full of shifts and waves, and the swans are the perfect vehicle for it.
ReplyDeleteNice one Chrissa.
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday
Much💛love
Dream or fairy tale - it doesn't matter, it's a wonderful escape into imagination.
ReplyDeleteYou are an amazing "in your head" creative writer! This is pure evidence, Chrissa. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteHave you had the COVID? We had shots and a booster but we still got it. Before that I could never remember my dreams, we all dream for the mind to sort things of the day out, but most aren't remembered. Now I am remembering my dreams. I like dreams but most I never remembered. Also I can't smell or taste and I forget names, names of places and people.
ReplyDelete..