Snow Moon wakes to black winter sky deaf and blind flies full body bare to longing stare he watches on the earth below restless lust grows sets him afire with base desire he hungers for her pale, chilled skin to plunge within her cold, cold dark and leave his mark ©2023 jai minute
Image by GooKingSword from Pixabay
She stares up at the starry sky while puffs of clouds meander by to silent, dark places not known. She watches alone, all alone, yearning to fly. All her life, she’s been a bird, caged, frazzled, red feathers, eyes of jade; both, no longer as sleek and bright— In fact, she is quite a sad sight…has come unmade. She’s been called a bitch—perhaps, witch? —that wasn’t a spell, just a twitch, muttered with a foul word or two at the one who causes hoodoo, makes her bones itch. One night she will straddle a broom, run away from this life entombed. To the far heavens, she will climb— Yes, stay up long past her bedtime…fly with the moon. ©2023 jai florette
Image by Ruslan Sikunov from Pixabay
I was not born to be happy…
no bright star shone down on me
when I was dropped headfirst into the world
red-faced, kicking, screaming
and placed in my mother’s arms—
the only true home I’ve ever known
instead, a dark star witnessed my birth
stepped out of hell’s black hole
took me in its cold bony hands
and christened me “Wednesday’s Child”
damning me to a life of woe
not for me fair of face or full of grace
a clumsy witch with frizzy red hair
who mounts her broom
and beneath an alabaster moon
runs wild with the night
night understands, night knows
what beats inside my heart
what tangles and twists my soul
it doesn’t question, doesn’t judge
night is my beloved familiar
there’s a certain comfort in failure
a happiness inside misery
a pleasure in absent feeling
for a Wednesday’s Child
who has serenely accepted her fate
for…
I was not born to be happy
©2023 jai
Featured image via Pinterest
the damsel strolls in step with the night snuggly swaddled in its ebony cloak it has always been her one true friend her moonstruck muse, whom she often misquotes she scribbles her wishes on its blank black canvass staples her dreams to the backs of dingy doves nails her hopes to the wings of ravens and sends them all to the stars above she grimly dances with detestable devils a wild, wicked waltz of spreading blight hoots and howls at the muddy moon scares away all the shiny white knights ©2023 jai
On the Fringe of Darkness 