Three Poems | by Linda M. Crate

forgotten song

some dreams
are not meant to be held
you were one of those,
but i dream of you still;
even if we are but a distant
reverie of lyric
that slips further into oceans
more and more distant with each
passing day—
you always struck me as otherworldly,
and i longed to be yours;
sweet faerie of the
roses
for you saw my scars and taught me
they were beautiful
not something to be shamed of as i had always
been taught—
you woke the dreaming in me
that i once thought to be
dead,
and turned even days of cold painful rain
into melodies of joy;
and i fell in love with you
the love still remains even if now we are only
just fragments of a distant, disjointed
forgotten song.

 

320px-Illustration_inset_(c)_at_page_132_of_Indian_Fairy_Tales_(1892)

 

skeletons are overrated

they tell me
sit upon the pretty pedestal,
but i will shatter it;
no gilded cage could hold me
i am a vampire’s daughter
passionate and intense—
never has mediocrity pleased me
yet i can find beautiful in places where
others see nothing
i have been told many times
that i have an artistic eye,
and i want my life to paint the prettiest picture;
something conflicted yet relateable in some
way yet weird and mysterious
something people gawk at for centuries to come
a name that is not forgotten
beneath the sea of names in lineage
i promise you this life of mine will shriek louder
than the banshee in my closet
because skeletons are overrated
i would rather know the fury of womankind.

 

320px-Illustration_inset_(c)_at_page_132_of_Indian_Fairy_Tales_(1892)

 

i could burn a thousand dawns

in the archeology
of my bones
lies a vampire’s rage
i must have inherited from you
a beastly thing that i try to keep
sewn down because it’s not pretty
causes me to drive out others
smash dreams and become a nightmare
to those whom i love and adore;
i don’t know what you want, father,
but i am sick of all this fury
everything about me has always been intense
this temper is no exeption to the rule
passionate as fire and strong as the ocean
while i prefer peace i become a perfect storm—
you only come to me in
dreams,
and you never say a word
i don’t know what you’re trying to say with
those mournful eyes behind those pristine white fangs,
but if nothing else at least tell me a story;
wash to sleep this temper
because i have no reason to be this angry
yet i feel as if i could burn a thousand dawns to ashes.

 

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Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvania native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has three published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press – June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon – January 2014), and If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016). Her fantasy novel Blood & Magic was published in March 2015. The second novel of this series Dragons & Magic was published in October 2015. The third of the seven book series Centaurs & Magic was published November 2016. Her novel Corvids & Magic was published March 2017. Her novel Phoenix Tears is forthcoming.

 

 

 

 

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