Dear Editor, please don’t slam that wooden door
On me. I promise you only caught the tail
End of my conversation. Your cruel “magic”
Distinctly alters the old rose-colored look
I used to have. Why have you twisted the safe
Feelings harshly? You catch more flies with honey.
Your guiding hand pains me editor. Honey,
Or even bitter greens would be sweeter. Door,
Closing again. This time a return to safe
Wishes in childhood. Track the swishing tail.
Nostalgia, noun: A wistful yearning, a look
Back to that which once truly felt like magic.
Enchantment, awe, and wonder of magic.
What once sounded almost as sweet as honey
No longer recalls the same Romantic look.
We question, is it a window or a door?
Consider, question, learn, connect. Catch the tail
End of rope and unravel the knots. Now, safe?
There is much we must learn in life about “safe.”
Calm days of My Little Pony and magic
Feel detached from our life now. At nights, the tail
Still calls, though. Back to sunny days of honey
Sandwiches. Urgently however, the door
Is slammed in our faces. Lost now is the way to look.
Even with disorder I persist to look
Over my left shoulder. I may return safe
One day soon, if I keep my foot in the door.
United we stand? Signs of murky magic
Abound. The sickly sweet flavor of honey
Is no longer savored to the tasting’s tail.
The sheen is brilliant and bright, once the tail
Wipes away those small imperfections we look
Closely at each day in the mirror. Honey
Snatched from the hive. When there is a lack of safe
Nature in one’s home, where is the light magic
In that? I don’t want it, close that brutal door.
I don’t need trickling honey or shining tail.
We need to open the door together, look
To make ourselves safe, we make our own magic.