deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Little People

 There was a struggle in the air
retreating night and eager dawn
the grey white mists at half passed four
muffling the friendly battle,
tonight the fight will be reversed
without the use of fog.
They do this every day I call
say not a word swirling in the mist.
We all come out to see, the elves
in pointed caps grab my hands
pull at my coat and make me dance
steal my clothes until I am as them
uncumbered, naked as intended.
We dance about the wood
through bramble nettle-sting and thorn
unharmed by nature's barbs
until  morning mist dispersed
and I see me as I am.
Where is my coat, I must go home
but the keys are in my pocket,
there are no fig-leaves in this copse;
yet why must I go home?
Come with us I hear them say
live a life of berries, mosses for a pillow
we will knit a coat for you
as warm as you shall need
shoes of silver birch.
I look back along the twisted path
unsure of what to do,
your choice, they say, you come here every day
so why not stay, yes why should I not ?
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1 reading list entries 0
comments 2 reads 462
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
POETRY
Today 7:42pm by ajay
SPEAKEASY
Today 6:23pm by Liziantus-Marantus
COMPETITIONS
Today 5:25pm by ajay
SPEAKEASY
Today 5:14pm by Phantom2426
SPEAKEASY
Today 3:20pm by Mstrmnd1923