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Poetry
Fantasy
Psst.
Cast your eyes over thataway.
D’you not see him?
That stranger, the cloaked one
Now, who wears cloaks anymore, I ask you?
But look a little harder
See his face?
He’s easy to spot, alright,
A cloaked man in a crowd of “normal” folk
But he’s the sort of odd fellow you forget about
You may tell your friend, in laughing tones,
“Guess what I saw today…”
But unless you really look at him
You’ll never understand.
See his eyes?
Bright and black and sharp and friendly
Wary too, and cautious
Framed by long, dark lashes
His nose is firm and clear-cut
Sitting straight and tall above his mouth
A full mouth, full of life
The mouth of a poet, a dreamer, a musician
The lips of one accustomed to song
Suddenly, his glance snares yours
A piercing, half-formed thought shoots through your mind
“Fey.” You think “He’s not quite…”
But—with a quick, sweet smile—he’s gone
Just a nondescript swish of grey cloth away in the crowd
The press of humanity sweeps you beyond
And as you go, you think again
“Fey, he was. Not quite…”
But there is no word.
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Copyright 2008, Elyn W. Marsh. All rights reserved. Elyn W. Marsh is a teen, Home-schooled writer who lives in the Midwest. She loves authors like J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, L.B. Graham, Donita K. Paul and Brian Davis. She writes mostly fantasy, including a very rough first-draft of a novel, and many poems and short stories. She has many hobbies, including flute-playing, reading, drawing, and making stuffed dragons while listening to Disney movie soundtracks and Superchic[k]. No one can say she isn't eclectic.
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