One Poem by Kate Young

Written in response to this month’s Special Challenge.

Antiquity and Dust

It was her face, pale as glacial snow,
that sent me trudging through sepia
laden with tradition.
Refugees, cut adrift,
wandering from their tale
footprints banished behind them,
ahead, pebble-lit path scattered
random as breadcrumbs.

I am spellbound,
rich with antiquity and dust,
offer of a golden ball
bobbing in the wishing well,
the frog pouting his lips
full of Princely promise
so now I am lost in its pages.
Lost, the oldest theme in the book.

We are all hunters at heart
trolling through Facebook
searching for that perfect post,
the quest for acceptance
all happy endings and
slippers made of glass,
hoping to break free,
die cast in our favour

but all is not as it appears.
No glittering, dancing fairies here
but wolves dressed as little old grannies
nerves frayed as candle wick,
covens caked in sweet ginger
luring Hansel and Gretel to ovens
crackling with heat,
a dragon’s blistering breath.

I turn the chapters
time spinning out of control
like Sleeping Beauty,
oblivious to the needle-sharp pain
absorbed in that well documented
deep, deep sleep.

 

Kate Young lives in Kent and is passionate about poetry and literature. After retiring, she has returned to writing and has had success with poems published in magazines. She is presently editing her work and writing new material, particularly in response to ekphrastic challenges.

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