The Fairytale

It is the luscious

smoke

of incense that seduces

then disappears in

curls and wisps

as I draw near,

lingering scent

of bitter herbs.

It is the perfect

fruit,

crisp and fragrant,

sweetness imagined

until the first taste

turns bitter,

ruined on my

tongue,

hunger denied.

It is the beckoning

wind

that fills the sails

with thrilling rush

then dies when

my fragile ship

rocks treacherously

far from shore,

unanchored.

It is a symphony of

music

drawing me closer

and deeper in to

a sanctuary of

hope, only to 

trap me in a

cold and 

empty lair,

alone.

The knights have all perished

but the dragons,

live.