confetti

 

when i was a child
my sisters used to tell me tales
of princes and kings
and dragons slain

of gold and silver
and queens and crowns
of fairies and forests
and elves and trees

and of mystical kingdoms

and glories of conquests

and of love found and lost

and gained

again

and of pain and heartbreak

dark hearts of madness

evil men and women

that shook their angry fists

at the coming of a pure dawn

and raged

against the deep velvet coat of night

and
everyone
was
always

so

utterly
happy

eventually

and my eyelashes used to flutter

like the wings of birds in flight

resting, finally

in eternal silence

like the princesses in the tales told

awaiting a kiss of a lover

awaiting her throne

awaiting her death

awaiting her birth

awaiting the day

when she

will truly

be free

from eternal 

waiting

woman

always

waiting

for whom?

waiting

for what?

waiting

why? 

the answer eluded me then

as words waltzed crescendos

across my subconscious self

curling like smoke rings

holding hands with each other

letters forming words

creating sentences

one day to be recalled

and written

Oh, such sweet innocence!

like the first snowfall

in slow motion freeze frame

landing upon the grass, still green

Autumn barely gone

and all the little children
standing outside

mouths wide open

chins tilted towards the sky

cerulean

catching snowflakes

in awe
of the wonder and divinity

of Mother Nature

pure

like the chalk lines freshly sketched
around your body
lying face down
in a pool of my

heart
broken

lying tattered and torn

shredded
like confetti

on New Year’s Eve.