Untitled 2

She stands there on the threshold,
a pretty waif, I see.
Her voice so high and piping:
"What do you ask of me?"

I ask of guilty pleasure,
I ask that I may know,
I ask them shown those things of old,
I ask... so I may grow.

She smiles, a toothy grin there
upon her pallid face.
"You do not know of what you seek,
your motives are as base

as those who view the future
and when it comes to pass,
they panic at that fateful day -
but destiny's a farce."

"The past is mine to treasure,"
I say with rising pique.
"It's not my fate I wish to see,
it's memory I seek."

"That may be so, you human,"
she trills, amusement plain.
"But ware the wishes of the heart -
and make them from the brain!"

~~~

There were no wishes forméd
upon that dreary day.
I closed the door upon her form
and kept the thoughts at bay.