Blue Butterflies

What this is, and where it came from, I cannot say exactly. I did just spend 516 pages living in Bordertown and I believe my mind was a bit overwhelmed with the wish and wash of the magic that breathes life into those city streets. Either that or a bit of the Mad Red River water was slipped into my own tea just before I sat down to write last night.

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I saw butterflies today.

Blue ones.

Forget-me-not sapphires that sparked against the sun like diamonds on fire.

Did you know that faeries live in shadows?

Crazy I am not; though I've no doubt I it. The way people sick with sin have no song. Yet let me assure you I am perfectly sane; I’ve simply been sung from the stars. It is their violet light what allows me to see the metal shapes in the glooms; the dark eyes glimmering like crystals of madness.

Iron heart, iron cold, iron soul. The very air is iron, poisoning their homes. It is why they shrink away from all but blackened gray. Why they cling so close to the nightmares they don't yet know they have become. They do not see, cannot realize; even silver glass has forsaken them. They are the twisted terrors now. A song has shattered in it’s flight.

Oh, sing me into sunbeams and falling tears to crystal drums. The very air’s a porcelain heartbeat resounding with an iron thrum. I pray each night for madness. Insanity’s cooling balm would bring such sweet relief against the fears what be burning to ash my heart. Instead, I’m cursed inside a cerulean cacophony of truth, refusing naught but flawless understanding to enter into my consciousness.

I hear the crickets, taste their magic thoughts. Echoes of Efland come to life and I catch each one.

Stolen iron's being sent to slay my song and I sense battle will breed this night.

I am not worried. I have prepared. Snowflake pearls kiss my toes and I rejoice,  

I saw butterflies today.

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Some Kind of FairyTale

I read a book yesterday; 'Some Kind of FairyTale' by Graham Joyce. Entranced I was, ensnared by the mystery and possibility of magic. Through the words on it's pages came this poem.

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Are there faeries in the shadows
A light to cross the candles wane
The land is full of mist and shadows
I'll not see you again

See there were bluebells full of whispers
Fields of light and lakes on fire
Cherries blossomed gold and wicked
I have become a faerie child

Oh, but promise that you'll wait for me
Give no embrace to others arms
For I will fight and cry and bleed
I'll find some way back to your heart

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