A thousand spindles

A hundred wheels

A dozen or so webs

An entire century of slow hearts

Tell me how does it feel…

to be so beautiful and significant

that you send your whole word

into mournful sleep?

Is your soul really so pure, so divine?

Is it attainable– could your legacy

be attained by all?

Or is it only the Briar Roses of the world

who have the luxury to be beautiful first

and all the niceties that follow far after?

Tell me…

if I were to be the way I am and look the way I do,

would my kindness, my gentle voice, my girlish laugh,

be my only saving graces?

Perhaps that is why it is far easier for some

to adorn themselves in the malice and darkness

they were branded with since birth

A thousand dreams

A hundred songs

A dozen or so wishes granted

A single kiss to assure the good deeds were worth it

~Sammicakes