The invisible people wander around
through tales of birds and hollows unfound.
They serve copper dishes and twitter to ghosts
they scamper on roofs built by their hosts.
The boy sits upon his throne
where the wind swirls and howls and cuts through bone.
As the mighty thorned giant stares ahead
its gaze follows the striped King who walks on with eyes white and dead.
He disappears into the scent of frosted flowers
fading into falling blue and golden showers.

But still, nobody listens and nobody knows
about the tales written by the girl in orange-blossom clothes.

____

Check out my poetry page on Instagram @kath.poetry ❤️