Cheyenne Padilla
Published 02/18/16
Silver Mists
Blissful sounds of water hitting -
glittering rocks, sending mist into the sky.
Descending again on damp, mossy rocks
trickling down their stony sides.
Time passes and woodland creatures come
one by one to lie beside.
My tiny chair, before they say,
goodbye.
Rocking with knees to chin upon -
my mushroom home, where I reside.
I contemplate the loneliness.
I know the feeling inside.
I wrap myself in gossamer wings
and cry.
The Back Room
Chandelier swings side to side sparkling
in black & white.
The scent of sweat and roses wafting
off the maidens' skin filled the air.
Naked skin gleaming and glowing -
under the perfectly placed shadows.
Stray baby hairs glued to the back of her neck,
body slouched in a lethargic manner.
The heavy cloth that lays across her lap
weighs down the fragile maiden form.
Yet gracefulness seems to be her nature,
chaos seems to be her recumbent.
Her silhouette beautifully etched as if
she was rarely in lace.
Feet hanging close to the floor,
covered in dirt & dust.
Blotches of her footprints scurrying
back and forth, just as -
The imperfect tainting of the perfect.
Blissful sounds of water hitting -
glittering rocks, sending mist into the sky.
Descending again on damp, mossy rocks
trickling down their stony sides.
Time passes and woodland creatures come
one by one to lie beside.
My tiny chair, before they say,
goodbye.
Rocking with knees to chin upon -
my mushroom home, where I reside.
I contemplate the loneliness.
I know the feeling inside.
I wrap myself in gossamer wings
and cry.
The Back Room
Chandelier swings side to side sparkling
in black & white.
The scent of sweat and roses wafting
off the maidens' skin filled the air.
Naked skin gleaming and glowing -
under the perfectly placed shadows.
Stray baby hairs glued to the back of her neck,
body slouched in a lethargic manner.
The heavy cloth that lays across her lap
weighs down the fragile maiden form.
Yet gracefulness seems to be her nature,
chaos seems to be her recumbent.
Her silhouette beautifully etched as if
she was rarely in lace.
Feet hanging close to the floor,
covered in dirt & dust.
Blotches of her footprints scurrying
back and forth, just as -
The imperfect tainting of the perfect.