Little
though she was,
she knew
what it was
to be discarded.
The rock she sat upon
was home,
the road
walked alone,
brokenhearted.
Waking dreams
walked,
beside her
they talked
about hope and purpose.
Imagination
held her,
hand in hand
it whispered,
she’d one day make it right.
©March 2021
Christina Anne Hawthorne
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
About Christina Anne Hawthorne
Alive and well in the Rocky Mountains. I'm a fantasy writer who also dabbles in poetry, short stories, and map making. My Ontyre tales are an alternative fantasy experience, the stories rich in mystery, adventure, and romance. Alternative fantasy? Not quite steampunk. Not quite gothic. In truth, the real magic is in those who discover what's within.