The writings of Oddpoet

The curved nose of the witch told me
To despise myself
Hate the image reflected back
Across the span of time

The body concurred.

Turned on itself.

And stabbed inward.

Tales told from the lips of fairies
Pull the thread through eons
Scrap­ing ethe­real walls for flecks of gold
To deliver
Nour­ish­ment
To weary souls.

Echoes cackle to remind
The move­ment of time
Through regal halls
Of the impor­tance
Of the meek.

©Jen2010 8–23

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