Bring Him Home

You were my faith. I hated praying, hated all of that before I met you. But then I prayed, and you came, and you left, and I prayed. So what do I do now? Who do I pray to when you’re lying, lifeless at my feet? When my knees buckle and hit the dirt, who do I call for help? Help to mend the ache in my chest and breathe life back into your lungs. God?

God.

Please.

Bring him home to me.

American Gothic

By E. Marie Fera

(Response poem to the famous painting of the same name)

I see that woman, frown on her face;

I don’t envy her.

Waking up before dawn,

standing behind her man;

I don’t envy her.

I see the exhaustion in her eyes,

the dirt under her feet,

the confining clothes she wears;

I don’t envy her.

It’s hard to think the blue sky above her

is the same as mine;

just in another time.

Time passed and so did she;

So I know not of envy.

Two Princes

By E. Marie Fera

Long ago in the far away land of Ladenia, there lived a young prince named Gregory. He was fair and handsome, with skin as white as snow and cheeks as red as blood. All the young girls fancied him. He lived in the castle with his father and step-mother. His mother had passed when he was just a young boy. His mother always love singing to the birds in the garden, and he loved spending time with her there. He sang the bird’s song to her as she took her last breath.

Gregory’s father remarried to his step-mother, who always despised that she had to share her time and money with the King’s son. She was determined to marry him off and get him out of her hair. She started pestering Gregory to find a princess. Gregory knew from a young age that he did not wish to find a princess, but rather he wanted a prince instead. He never spoke of this, because it was unheard of. Continue reading Two Princes

Our Love

by E. Marie Fera

Our love, runs vein-deep, flows freely through us,
and from us, as it does anyone else.
Chests open, hearts bared, ripe for the taking,
we bleed and hurt just as the rest of you.

Whispers of cruel disdain and of hate mean
nothing, rendered obsolete when we kiss.
Threats of violence, ill wishes of death,
dull to a whir when I hear you speak.

If hell is what awaits us when we’re gone,
I invite the fire and wrath of it.
If that is where we truly belong,
Together we are thrown into the pit.

But believe,

living and breathing,

or turning to ash,

we love.