..
She sleeps
,
and her spun-gold
tresses spindle
down
these cobbled castle walls.
The feeling of gossamer
against her skin, and
a gentle mourning for
fragile footwear. A half
-bitten apple. A fading rose.
A watchtower, the call
of dragons. The sound of
hooves, a forest whisper.
The crown she’d gladly
trade for freedom. A
sword.
Too many stones.
..
Prompted by Miz Q. Come play!
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Loved these details and how they add up to misery. Great.
Ah unspun flaxen gold! Fine the way you fold old tales retold.
Oh and gossamer was the name of the orange monster in certain bugs bunny shorts. Not what I’d want to feel against my skin! (sorry for the tangent). 🙂
beautiful
A mixed up fairy tale world. You describe it beautifully and fearfully
It’s like reading stepping stones. An escape, perhaps.
Love the hidden title: “all those severs.”
Love these:
“her spun-gold
tresses spindle
down”
“The feeling of gossamer”
Yes and triple yes…to all the ‘Grimm’ references.
Ah, the sword…our pens…what swift marks that slasheth realities…
Getting lost in mazes is another dream-scape I can do without!