Old Things
This first one is illustrated in some sketchbook I have.
Wings
Pain has wings of shattered glass
That cut, deep to the bone.
And grief has wings of ice and snow
That make you mourn alone -
Despair has wings of metal sharp
That destroy and rend and tear...
But Death has wings of feathered black
That shelter you with care.
(caption to this was: "Life got bad, recently. It's since gotten better, but this was written during the bad time and is distantly based on Neil Gaiman's personification of Death.")
This next one is actually a rewrite of a much older poem that seemed to need it.
Last Unicorn
Standing before a forest,
I watch the night and the shadows.
Something moves - a flash of silver? No -
Yes.
Don’t panic now, he says, just
let it come to you of its own...
and it will come.
That’s right, easy does it.
One step at a time.
That’s it, my beauty…
A beauty indeed.
Ice-blue eyes, deep as infinity
A coat unmarred by dirt,
a horn whose healing
spills over to glow about it,
cloven hooves that touch the grass
with the lightness
of a dancer.
The horn on my shoulder
knights me, filling me
with something I cannot name.
Our eyes - light and dark - lock;
in hers I see only love, and I wonder
what she sees in mine.
I lay my hand on her neck.
Easy, pretty one, don’t fear.
She stiffens as the spear pierces her heart;
her eyes accuse me.
Quicksilver blood pools on the earth.
Life deserts her and she falls,
her horn scraping my chest.
The last unicorn,
dying in a spreading pool of blood,
as I - the last and only virgin
in this small town - stand over her,
grieving for what I’ve done,
for what I was made to do.
The last unicorn,
neck crooked, legs twisted,
lies lifeless, her beauty gone,
as my father strips her of her horn.
(Caption of this was: "Not actually based off the book or movie. It is, in its essence, about losing magic and innocence.")
This one is very old, very much beloved, and some of you - maybe only one of you - might recognize it. Slightly edited for stylistic/scanning reasons.
Look Deep
Look deep into these eyes
and tell me what you see.
I truly hope you will not glimpse
the creature that is me.
Who only comes in darkness,
when she cannot be seen.
Who bears the name of killer,
who bears the name of Queen.
Sharp ears and sharper eyesight,
quiet stalks and quiet kills.
Whose howling brings bleak terror,
and the gentle night noise stills.
Look deep into these eyes,
and tell me what you see.
I fear that you already know
the creature that is me.
(Caption is: "It's been claimed that this poem was where I started to find my voice. I don't rhyme much anymore, but this, I feel, stands out as a rhyming poem. From the POV of a werewolf.")
These have been up on fictionpress.com for a long time; that's where the captions come from.
Here's one new one for you:
midnight
in the cellphone's ghostlight
your skin is milk-blue,
pale against mine,
which lies in shadow,
dusky and dark.
and although when the sun shines
only a single shade
lies between us,
at night we become
two very different girls.