The Wicked and the Fair
There is good and bad in everything.
the light and the shadow, mingling,
tell a story older than bones, than dirt,
of how the world spins on its axis
and triumphs despite futility in motion
the mother beckons her children close
and recites old lullabies her own mother
whispered by midnight starfall gleaming
the father pretends to live a life worn
by the cracks on his hands, the ache
in his back, heart crumbling bit by bit
and the children themselves, girls,
find themselves in the forest paths
and the whispers of the trees above
but in those weeping places, each one
bearing its weight of tales long untold,
power rises and falls, like breath in sleep
the myths and fairy tales alone speak
of sins and saints alike, good and evil—
yet the words are only a fraction of truth
born from millennia past, tainted by man
the mother leaves her earthly plane,
and the father not long after, their girls
alone in strange lands so unlike the ones
they left behind in better, easier days
the one sister falls in love, swift and sure,
while the other makes deals with devils
and they drift apart like stones crumbling
and it is only when they walk by the graves,
their hands joined as if they’d never part,
do they talk of what they’ve lost and learned
the younger says, “I’m good and happy,”
while the older nods along, lies in her eyes,
and the earth below keeps spinning, no end
in sight, knowledge quaking awake at last
About the Creator
Jillian Spiridon
just another writer with too many cats
twitter: @jillianspiridon
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