Floating Fortress

Its shadow slipped over the land, temporarily painting the fields in black. An almighty silhouette silenced the world with frozen awe, blocking out the sun as they searched above For the thing that’s smothered their world into darkness, Too untimely to be the night chasing away the glow of the sun.

What is this thing, this platform above? How does it glide so much higher than even the bravest of raptors? What seems to be made of hulking stone scuds past without the slightest of sounds, Like a wisp of cloud blown with ease by the summer breeze. And how does it not fall apart, eroding and collapsing onto the life on the surface below For it looks to have been hewn from the very ground itself, then cast up into the sky to watch from above. Where lies the chasm in which is once sat? Does a hole the size of a mountain lay gaping for what once belonged, like a fish at the absence of water’s flow?

How can we, who live below, ever hope to see what lies atop this mammoth platform? What does it look like? Are there fields or a city bathed in the golden rays of the sun? Do people live there? Skins glowing darker in the shades of sun-kissed tones, or do they hide inside away from the strengthened beams. How can the burning questions of those who search the skies from the ground Ever be answered without the knowledge of someone who has seen it all.

Perhaps, opposed to them all, it is merely just the shell of a world- no longer inhabited but cursed to float up there in solitude, With no way to return to its rocky bed below, where it once sat on the surface but then rose to rule above. Like the isolated life of those who rise to the throne watch and remember what they left behind But have to stay their course for the fortune of those they cared for before, Does this floating fortress ever long for return to the surface world below? Or, is it content to regard the view from its detached position far up above?

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Holly and Mistletoe Girl

My struggle to get overly into the seasonal celebrations this year brings to mind those who may WISH to get into the season more, but are struggling for various other reasons. Maybe they’re alone, don’t have the fiscal means to enjoy it or provide shelter, or are stuck in places they don’t wish to be (varying examples, such as being stuck in a warzone, hospital or other unhappy scenario). And while humans by nature may try to make the best of things as much as they can, no matter the situation, it doesn’t marry up to the joy of being in a safe place with safe company.

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The Holly and Mistletoe Girl

The young girl stood on the bustling streets, Feet bare with rain-soaked clothes, Clutching close to her a tatty, thin cloak. She offers her modest wares to any who’d buy them: A small, woven basket full with freshly picked holly And clusters of seasonal mistletoe Instead of the flowers she’d sell for summer, Hoping to save enough to buy something warm for her to eat. For it’s the season of celebration and joy, Of Holly decorating mantles, mistletoe dressing doors, And warm food and a warm hearth. But, not so for the young girl stood on the streets. Her family gone and no home to return to, She huddles, shivering, at the side of the road, Tatty, thin cloak pulled tightly around Her ever thinning frame as she fights to keep herself warm, Fights to stay fed and fights to stay alive, By selling flowers in summer to those who will buy them, And at Christmas the freshly picked holly and seasonal mistletoe, To call in the season that should be full of warm food and happiness, With a warm hearth and warm company. Where will she go, and how long will she be there? How long will she manage to fight off the cold that infects her- Freezing her fingers and icing her lungs, Bitter, choking cough racking her entire small frame, When all she desires is a place that is warm, With warm food and a warm hearth and warm company, That’ll help her to fight off the cold that infects her. And the loneliness of being forgotten and left to the streets, By the family long gone, deceased, And those who pass her, unseeing, walk by on the streets, Ignoring the young flower girl standing alone by the road, Trying to sell freshly picked holly and seasonal mistletoe, So people can decorate their mantles and dress their doors, In their warm houses with warm hearths, While this young girl fights off the infecting cold. She’ll be in company soon, though the sad thing is, It’ll be the family that once left her alone on the streets, For they are deceased and while this girl stands alone, In the cold, ignored by those who bustle past in the street, She slowly fades with the cold that infects her, And Death is the only one who’ll stand with her.

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