Fairy tale addict

Angelic harps sound, only magicians can see the wind playing with your hair
Emotions are painted things and love lacks its luster
To see you sit quietly like a wallflower.
Please Poem, verse and nursery-rhyme be thy bible in this final prayer.
So I can say our fingers laced in lucid prayer
My mind wandered over that nightmare then the smell of your hair
Cautiously clinging tighter now that never has come at last.
The unknown of everything lies ahead.
What I don’t know fills me with dread.
The skin of my cheek reddened under your hand
That smell was the clean and dirty mix of sand
That sweet old thing so soft to touch
Made of earth succumbed to frictions touch.
Words will always be writ and wrung of things yet to come as well as all things past.
Your words filled the air which burst my weaker parts
Blood bathed below my neck, something shared in our hearts.
Time has past and you’ve grown heavenly higher.
Dancing doesn’t displace the despair whatsoever
And quietly crawling back inside your thimble won’t be safe forever.
A Mother set down the book then gave a moment to mourn the girl inside
As roundabout rhymes and delicate drawings depict the way Thumbelina died.