poem
The people are sleeping,
Save one schoolboy weeping.
His work is not finished.
His moral diminished,
He cries on the floor,
His back to the door.
Far away, a girl in candlelight,
With pen and pad doth write
An epic poem long
Of freedom, darkness and song.
At night she fears silence.
Knowing love leads to violence,
Represses the feeling,
And writes while she's healing.
A jumper covers skin pale,
Legs behind shorts, of a male.
Bloodstained are her fingers.
In her sadness lingers.
She looks out the glass,
Sees no people pass,
And undoes the latch,
In her mind a plan hatch.
She climbs into the air,
Shaking back her short hair.
Silent, she drops
And runs past the shops.
Bare feet slap on concrete,
Hoping no-one she'll meet.
The people are sleeping.
She prays nobody's peeping.
Crosses the road without even a glance.
The moon alone watches her dance.
On the grass she leaps and bounds.
Darts under streetlamps. Flies over the ground.
Only the moon sees as she dances.
Only the moon watches her prances.
A car drives past.
The girl shrinks fast,
Hides from the light,
Ducks out of sight.
Mustn't be seen.
She mustn't be seen.
She creeps now, uncertain,
Of those behind the curtain.
But the people are sleeping.
She returns to her leaping.
Under the moonlight she flies and she sings.
It's four o'clock magic. She alone has gold wings.
She reaches a pond
And picks up a wand.
A fairy, she flutters,
Unseen by the gutters,
And swirls in the moonlight,
All through the night.
Then over the trees shoots the first ray of sunshine.
The city night pixie sees the sign.
Her wings disappear. Her wand is a stick.
She enters her window before you could click.
The people stop sleeping.
The cars start their beeping.
Not a word has she spoken.
Waits in bed to be woken.
She's lost her freedom, but just for the day,
So smiling, she knows it will all be ok.
She faces the day with her head held up high,
Glancing, in secret, at the moon in the sky.
posted by titch @ 11:12 PM
6 comments
