They flocked to her in droves
“Cinderella,” they called.
Their ardor, canned heat.
“Give us a glance
from your golden drapes.
Come, be our Poppy Girl.
Let's worship the comet sky.
Look there, the stars shine
on the tips of your glass slippers.”
Ah, so many Cinderella
men of sparks and air
chanting coy promises
catching stardust on their fingers.
And again, they came
through the fruit orchards
of hobgoblins,
“Rapunzerella, let down your
golden hair.”
Cinderella, confused an enchanted girl
twirled her golden strands
shined her glass slippers
then spun the wheel of fate and fantasy
for coy boys
into the brittle, golden hours
days running long into the night.
Jagged stars, see how they shine?
Men of airy promises
poured through the atmosphere
like toxic rain.
Castle walls soon become crypts
of truth.
Mazes of the millennium close.
Plath whispers from
the silvery, sorrowful distance
and Cinderella heeds the call
rises above them
in sublime flourish
these callous men of air.
About the Creator
Lana Broussard
Lana Broussard writes primarily under the pen name, L.T. Garvin. She writes fiction, poetry, essays, and humor. She is the author of Confessions of a 4th Grade Athlete, Animals Galore, The Snjords, and Dancing with the Sandman.
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By Ashley4 days ago in Motivation
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