Fairies Of Darkness: The Non-Conformist Fairy-Tales

Wings of dusty webs and lace,

Scarred like their papery skin,

Tattooed and branded,

Hair of every colour, cropped,

Or long and flowing,

Other fairies scatter glittering fairy dust,

Like finely ground powder of stars,

These ones scatter grey-black ashes,

Remains of our hopes and dreams,

They don't grant wishes, they burn them,

Hold a hope between black talons,

Rip it to pieces until it is tattered,

And all over dead,

Dead to the world,

And heaven and hell,

Dreams fade like the shadows,

Into nothingness,

The hell of everday life rolls like film,

Misery fuelled by the fairies-of-darkness,

They feed off of our blood like mosquitoes,

Devour our dying souls,

Play among the garden's dead flowers,

In the depths of the evening,

Cold, dark, clean air feeds bloodlust,

Smoke-scent of fires,

Drives them on through the night,

Like vampiric pixies, they tear into skin,

Never caught in the white, frothy nets,

Laced with writhing insects,

The same six-hundred-and-sixty-six,

Carved into each fragile wrist,

The veins running dry,

The mood running low...



The End

2 comments about this poem Feed