in a room that reeks of death

a little girl sits alone

blade clutched in a trembling hand,

knuckles white as bone.

blood runs red accross the floor

but she doesn’t feel a thing.

a princess does as she is asked,

and she was asked to please the king.

Here is the original (my first piece on prose):

https://theprose.com/post/267120

Does youth in the soul die with age?

Shall we all fall into adulthood’s trap

Forever altered

Imagination shriveled within

Make the world a stage to act our lives upon?

Will childhood disintegrate beyond teen years?

Shall we remember such times with distance

Everything evaporated

The choices made

Left to live in adulthood’s consequences?

Is adulthood to be an obligation?

Must we blossom if we wish to stay a bud

Untouched by poison

Unpollinated by contact

Are we destined to bloom, shrivel, decay?

Must lines sink beneath children’s eyes?

Must innocence meet its untimely end

Buried with imagination

Remains mourned by the soul

Until we meet immortality or oblivion?

Perhaps, childhood never dies

It lives inside us over a smoldering flicker

We must simply seek it out

Hear the voice within it

And let it shine over our softened hearts

Original Prose: https://theprose.com/TBHughes

evil is such an opinionated word

and i should know

by the blood that drips from these horns

and wings, now broken and flat.

pain is all that i have

but is that what makes me a villain?

perhaps we should reconsider

what it truly means to be a sinner

because i for one, have only done

what’s right by my pursuit

of a certain quality of life.

does that make me evil on sight?

or perhaps this question is too

blasphemous to ponder. after all

you made the rules that

lead us to the slaughter.

well let me tell you something, Father.

one day this world you built

will begin to falter.

and you will stay stagnant on your alter

proclaiming us all to "be free".

you will watch a world grow with greed

and then you will realise

the true enemy

was never evil, nor blasphemy.

it was the love you never gave to me.

------

https://theprose.com/post/341208/hells-bells

The challenges and trials

Lasted a long while,

Beaten down and weak,

Every day of the week.

I thought I wasn’t strong,

But I was so wrong.

One day I just prayed,

Relying on God to guide me,

To give me hope to cope.

My troubles once doubled,

Began to subside in size,

Eased and decreased,

I was infused with peace.

Today I’m not as stressed,

Sometimes I get depressed,

A remedy for the enemy,

Puts it to rest.

The past is gone,

I’m moving towards

Looking forward

To a better tomorrow,

Free of sorrow.

Bound to a place,

With a smile on my face,

I call it my happy space,

Where peace lives,

And pure bliss exists.

They come to me at night,

Appearing in the moonlight,

The characters of novels past,

Tethered to me,

For it is because of me

that they came to be,

And it is I they haunt,

And it is I they taunt,

For it is I who took their lives.

I apologize to thee,

And I promise to set you free.

Prose Original: https://theprose.com/post/353335/a-writer-s-ghosts