She Almost Wonders If

She Almost Wonders If
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

She almost wonders if time is not real 
based on how water flows through veins of steel 
till silver raven, from dim vale she fears, 
explains strange magic of machinery gears, 
so lame girl walks downside up to her room 
where faceless fairies flicker in sad gloom. 

She never questions why stars glitter gold 
because she savors water that seems cold 
while reading romance tales in canny books 
that were sewn from butterfly wings by cooks 
who hide crystal keys in loaves of hot bread 
which she can use to resurrect the dead. 

She always asks each ghost their secret name 
because she wants to learn their psychic game 
which gives her social tools to fool the fools 
who gather in workshops to design tools 
that devils use to manipulate minds 
except for her who loves to feed shy hinds. 

She ever wanders garden of fruit trees 
in search of new words she can use to tease 
grim angel standing guard by jeweled gate 
whose sky-blue eyes require she defy fate, 
but when she climbs through window of her heart 
he flies away without celestial chart. 

She often leans in window of high tower 
to watch her favorite horse consume star flower, 
and dreams of racing swift beyond far hills 
to eat fresh apples and drink from clear rills, 
but wakes from daydream in gray mirror frame 
to smile and pretend she was not born lame. 

She mostly paints fierce dragon on ice peak 
whose rage is tamed by lame girl who is meek 
since she is doomed to inherit the Earth 
according to chart of her royal birth, 
so she limps quietly down narrow hall 
past portraits of ancestors on the wall. 

She nearly steps through unlocked door of hope 
in frantic mission to expand her scope 
by slipping free from castle of despair, 
but pauses halfway down steep winding stair 
to ponder abstract numbers of blind faith 
that help her mind perceive the eyeless wraith. 

She rarely thinks about mute nothingness 
while waiting on Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
so when Rapunzel gains her liberty 
she strums taut strings on lyre of Mercury 
and sings heart-wrenching psalms of bitter love 
while busking in strange towns where she may rove.