All is Fair in Love and War

My Poetry

Let me write of a story. A fragile story. That of a young flower fairy whom had lost her home.

She wandered around unknowingly, trying to fit in, trying as one of the mortals that surrounded her. But she was unsuccessful.

She knew magic and she contemplated if she was deranged. She knew ruin and she wondered if she was hexed. Alas, if a hex can be considered heightened sensitivity, then maybe so.

The trees spoke to her, and the stars were her friends. And beside her home stood a doorway, reminding her of her origins. But she could not enter through, because the world was blinded to its beauty, and kept her blinded too and apart from her true home.

Oh how my heart bleeds for this fairy. And her twin brother was neither to be found. On the other side of the door, with his hand against the frame, waiting one day for her return. What a sad fairy he too was, tormented and apart from his beloved.

And she planted lavender, she nursed their blooms to remind herself of him, she used folk medicine and healed the afflictions of her community with the skills she was taught by him. And slowly, slowly she remembered. But still she could not reach through. The door was one way only, and he had only the suffering of watching her age and fade as he remained immemorial within her fantasy.

For she was no longer a fairy in this world, and had the body of a mortal. She was punished for heinous crimes she was said to have committed. And yet she was not culpable, and he knew that. She had not a stain of blood on her hands, nor anywhere on her person, and still he knew that. Yet the torment of that knowing never ceased, and never eased the sorrow of seeing her languish.

There was another way. If she only pleaded guilty, love’s true kiss could revive her again. Like sleeping beauty, she lay waiting for his healing embrace. And yet she had to unveil that shroud of secrecy that kept them apart.

Who is he, this traveller? This distant and weary man? He whom has experienced so many woes, so many trials and so many condemnations? Why does he adore the flowers and the winds and all things of the skies? Why is his influence so strong in her?

He is chained. He is caught and confined, like a circus animal trained only to perform cruel acts, for no reward of its own. And the bars separate their natures, the bars separate them from their amnesty.

A precious bubble that should be theirs is nothing more than a wretched heartbreak.

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