By: Amanda Ferguson
Mother, I'm tired.
Tired, so tired.
Of being a creature in a cave where
slayers watch me with lances that
can't have enough.
Remember our days
on the island in the sky?
Where our ideas formed the clouds
and fairies spoke for hours.
Our tears were as golden as
the titan veins.
Our fruit the sweet child
we shared of a tree that blossomed
when we layed upon its roots.
Our feathers were many colors
where I and you were the masterminds of
traveling the endless rabbit hole
that many others fell through.
Together we would mold the wax
with many shapes and sizes
with possibilities endless as the sky.
And though by box had been opened many times before,
and Pandora's wrathful troubles
had been set loose,
I could still work the wax with you a
and make new clouds beneath our
tree on the island above.
Mother, I'm sorry.
Sorry, so sorry.
That the Cave of Wonders had been split
open and realities 40 theives
opened that little box.
Hope is crying in Pandora's box
and I m