Come little ones, to the web I weave,
Draw closer to my sweet smile
Dance in swirls, turning, spinning
To the music box tune on the air
The atmosphere is heavy, scented musk
Your eyelids are drooping, closing.
Grasp me, outreaching, rest a while
My bonnie little children.
Slowly tripping round in circles
Slumber is what you want
Come little ones - I am the puppet master
Rest in my arms.
Now you're mine, trapped in my web,
rest in sickly sweet, gentle night.
When you awake the fog will be gone
And you are forever lost.
A contest entry
- Ray Caesar - digital art inspiration #51 by leander.
400 points, ended March 9, 6 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
I like free verse, but somehow for me - the four-line stanza's each time don't work with this form. Maybe it's just a matter of personal preference though.
Quite good what you penned here, thanks for entering!
Leander
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