She goes up the magical stairs to toil in a glass palace. It's a palace, indeed; complete with snooty men and condescending women sipping spirits and the likes in their intimidating china .
Yet, she goes up the magical stairs to toil in a glass place.
It's lonely at the top, apparently. She's not alone, though. She has her shiny glittery black shoes in place that click loud enough when she walks; but only if she wants them to. She walks in beauty with her smooth gait in and then of course they notice her. One can't miss her being, wrapped in layers of elegance which is, rather sexually, intertwined with some fear. The fear may surprise a few. Not me. It's but the fear of self.
She fears going on a journey. She fears she might not make it.
Don't we all? Sigh
She thinks Heaven's gonna burn her eyes, even though, in reality, it's probably her eyes that would burn Heaven. Her teary eye gleam tender shades of denial. Denial doesn't do her any good. She knows that just as much as I do. Anyway, the journey she fears going on would've been easier had it been in terms of location, you'd think. Or even time, for that matter. But hers is a deeper quest. I think it's trust.
In her naivety, she trusts.
If only she knew she is stardust. As precious.
Also, ad astra per aspera — that's her fate. She just doesn't know it yet.
She's probably caught up and busy.
Busy because she goes up the magical stairs to toil in a glass palace. It's a palace, indeed; complete with snooty men and condescending women sipping spirits and the likes in their intimidating china .
Yet, she goes up the magical stairs to toil in a glass place.
