faerie dust set update
IV
The game
In ages past,
Creatures crawled,
Over sand and ice.
Died their deaths,
On each other sprawled
Lizard, worm and lice.
Crushed by ages,
Burnt by heat,
Forgotten beneath the ground.
Black viscous oil,
Resurrection.
Awaking at new sound.
Formed into hardened shell again
Plastic shielding from emotions bite.
Under finger like the owner.
Button.
Depressed.
Figure jumps, and flees a foe,
Concentration beads in sweat.
Doubt too great for simple answer so,
The Game is played instead.
Character running, jumping, playing,
On the plastic covered screen,
Dead creatures feel the pain,
That is too acute to be seen.
Arm round waist holds her firm,
As on the screen she sees
Her hopes and dreams played out before her,
On there she can simply be.
A failure there can be replaced,
A simple matter of ‘restart’
Mistakes made can be erased
No danger to her, or her heart.
But still that arm it roots her down,
Makes her see what is truly there,
Shows her starlight and horizons,
Shields her from the worlds dread glare.
Scared to stay and scared to go,
So she sees the game again,
Takes the comfort the arm is offering,
Scared to end, scared to begin.
Arm’s owner waits, patient, coiled,
Sees in her eyes the light of stars,
Knows the desire to cling to soil,
Knows the fear of flying far.
But still he waits and holds her close,
Knows she’ll find her way in time,
Find her wings or take his hand,
Hear the music, hear the rhyme.
So he asks for nothing, but sweetly smiles,
As another tries, her will to tame,
For he wishes to see her free,
And so he holds her, helps in the game.
I might even show these to her one day, you never know.
