Ashes to Ashes
A kitchen maid, magicked from her hearth,
ascends, crystal-shod and gliding on air,
her pallor strangely silver, recalling the ashen exile of her youth.
Champagne words of fealty, spilling from royal lips
render her effervescent, waltzing in the moonlight
but his eyes, blank and luminous as two porcelain dishes,
reflecting only the glitter of her borrowed beauty,
never glimpse the soot beneath the silk:
her heart a bed of dying embers,
choked by cinders and domestic drudgery.
Well before midnight, she flees from his arms, stumbling
through pavilions strewn with broken glass.
Steel-eyed, she pawns her gossamer gown and a lone shoe
for gold, and gallops into the moonrise on stolen hooves,
the snickers of drunken courtiers still ringing in her ears.
Abandoned and trembling beneath the clock's baleful gaze,
a stiletto spire gleams with cracks, then shatters
as midnight chimes its death knell to old dreams.
a/n: finally off-hiatus. experimental. still screwing around with the stanzas. feed-back always appreciated.