Grounded In a quiet place, home to elves and ghosts, Astra, grand explorer of secret rooms, Breathes in deeply between lino and door. For she was left when the nobler hearts sailed: Aragorn, Legolas, the Great Lion… But in this treacherous reign she stands tall. “In my world,” prays Astra, “heroes stand tall”. On mum’s old radio a voice sings of ghosts, But they all shrink when faced with the lion; Magical creatures swirl through darkened rooms, Defy the laws of those who never sailed. “Teach me,” she pleaded, “to not feel the door!” Under her fingernails, splinters of door, The uncles said she had grown so damn tall, And not only. Long before the ships sailed And her memories transformed into ghosts. One thing she’d learnt, though, and that is that rooms Are never too dark for the great lion. She swished her plastic wand and faced her lion: “Why did you leave me here to breathe used air?” And stardust filled all corners and closed rooms. “Warrior princesses sometimes grow tall,” She hoped as she fought back the grimmest ghosts, Wondering if he died the day he sailed. Did true magic pale away when the elves sailed? Are bruised warriors forced to invent lions? Keeping wands and swords unsheathed for the ghosts, Those iron fanged ghouls beyond the door. It’s not easy for a novice to seem tall, Nor to wield a sword outside shrouded rooms. Every time in those secretly locked rooms, Astra welcomed the saviours who’d sailed. Returning, returned. A king could stand tall. And those who insisted there was no lion… Silly billy pain in the neck – no door… Would ever keep out the life-sucking ghosts. Less than a room, hazier than a lion No one ever sailed and only one door. Astra would grow tall, taller than the ghosts.
Posted on: Mon, 04 Nov 2013 13:28:12 +0000
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