The poisoned apple has lost its bite,
the spinning needle its thirst,
the glass slipper its soft, swift step.
In the castle’s kitchen the larder is empty,
the chopping boards dusty, the ovens gone cold…
echoes reverberate where chefs once turned spits
and made fantastical marzipan statues and petit fours.
The grand hall sits empty, the tables removed,
the curtains drawn and dark,
the hearths empty of their roar.
And although the guests have long since left
and the orchestra is merely a forgotten melody,
an old couple sits there still, silently staring,
gazing into the gloom, remembering.
There, as bated as a breath and as winsome as a wish
they see the ghostly consort and his queen
dance into and out of the silvery night,
she the beauty of the ball, he the cup of her
largesse and they the stuff of some forever—
but still, soon, too soon, gone.
Come my queen, says the old man smiling,
gently taking her arm, it is time.
Another poem for my wonderful, beautiful and so patient wife, Lyn. How she puts up with me I do not understand.
Thank you for reading The fantasy is over, dear, and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph is entitled Come blow your horn and was taken at 30 Rockefeller Square in New York City, where the Toy Soldier statues are a traditional part of the yearly Christmas decorations there. For more photography, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem and notes © 2014 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2014 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use or reproduction in any way, unless so granted in writing by the copyright owner.