~ Feathers fall in the forest ~

Feathers fall in the forest,

through the cracks of the early morning sun,

footprints buffered by waves that hit shore- they too fade,

for like seasons that flitter past the underbelly of a tomb, she weathers it all,

weighed down with armour, past the-

obscene feathers glistening with an acid curling of poisoned dreams

Those doors locked shut should never be opened,

the storms of sorrow that pull the corners,

like phantom strings of a ventriloquist’s muse,

marooned on the shipwreck of her youth,

it grows roots, flames that lick the skin of furnished walls,

Porcelain figures, shaken loose from oiled pages kept in shadows

For Hell is here.

Shrouded by grotesque wisps; eye sockets distorted; shattered,

don’t touch – don’t look,

through lantern flames she weaves through the deepest part of night,

whispering with strength beyond the raging of a tempest- ’follow me’,

and reflected beyond the seductive eyes of a devil- you do.

Copyright © 2019 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

Edge of Silence

As we sit on the edge of silence,

gazing down to what has come before,

unrivalled dreams, stained apricot by passing suns,

like rain through our fingers no more,

mirrored strength, as marble hardens around-

our finest inspirations to fill the void,

as seasons flash, eternal;

never abandoned, relentless, never destroyed,

a memory flits by with her wings of silk,

so transparent and pure in the light,

of shadows that once were, carrying their weight,

or so nobly let dreams alight.

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Copyright © 2016 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

Modern Fairytale

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-Welcome to my library says the beast. Two storeys to be read at your leisure. All yours.

-No thanks. Belle shows him her Kindle, held to her chest like an over swaddled baby-binder. This is your whole library.

-Can you eat it? Smell it, touch it, lick it? Didn’t think so, says the beast. It is not a proper thing you can drop in a bath, crumple in your bag until it is dog-eared, use as a coaster -no, it’s a travesty. You cannot eat a Kindle, and that’s a fact.

Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)