Goodnight sweet one, she thought

Her lips chapped from late night pillow kisses

Where animals were made from clouds

And dolls set out for tea with biscuits plenty

Her imagination a filter for her dreams

Of where he rides, his mane dark and tangled

A harvest moon in view

Come home, back to this tattered princess

She speaks within, her heart a megaphone

Her eyes the window to the falling sky

Lonely weeps the silence

Where ruptured hope intermingles

With dispersed confusion

Mistress she be, to wallowing shadows of wants

Mistress she be, to the armor that sheds and reforms

Sticking to shape like skin to snake

Until the echo of stifled screams burst out from inside

And harbored ghosts with metallic breath

Set sail as residential spirits

‘Cross the oceans of another

And she is made to float naked in solitude

As baptized infant reborn to innocence

~ Sam Craft, August. 2012