The Grove

Come sit under the tree my friend,
You are safe now,
The green shall provide,
This haven of the arboreal,
This grove is for the lost,
The hurt souls of the modern world,

The canopy shall shield you from the rain,
The worlds slings and stones,
The fae among these toadstools shall regale you,
Tales from the many fantastical realms,
You shan’t go hungry,
The fruit of these briars shall provide aliment,

Be welcome my friend,
These boughs are your shelter,
Their shade shall be your shield,
You can heal from life here,
Until you finally decide to return,
And leave this grove in the past.

She-Elf

I once met a being of glamour,
Fresh from the shores of Arcadia,
A sylvan lady,
Slender and refined in stature,
Cloaked in every form of botany,
Beautiful yet somewhat off,
Verging upon androgyny,

Her hair was overgrown ivy,
And her eyes were frosted alabaster,
Her gaze felt ever like barely stifled fury,
A mother bears spirit married to the fae,
Natures proud hostility held fast in her voice,
The elements danced like sprites upon her silver tongue,
And from that tongue came a harsh attitude,

To her kind,
The human world was profane,
An aberration,
We are pollution given a body,
The antithesis of her creed,
It was difficult to argue,
So I gave myself to the green.

The Toad

I once chased from my den a toad,
As swift as a garuda,
Into the dank green of the yard,
A soft mist enshrouded the lawn,
It served as a suitable backdrop,
For our dance of drama,
Our filmic action chase,

This little green man,
He was of singular proportion,
An amphibian aristocrat,
I pursued him,
Through a garden I no longer recognised,
The lawn gave way to a bizarre realm,
As if walking into a dream,

The toad was there,
But somehow changed,
Elongate limbs and a humanoid stylistic leaning,
Colours of every prism swam around like tadpoles,
He began a chorus of frog song,
Melancholy to be sure,
But somehow filled with magic,

I lock eyes with him,
His bulbous oculi grow ever more violet,
I feel his tongue strike out at my thoughts,
Amphibian metaphysicality,
As his crescendo amps up,
I feel lightheaded,
Blackness pounces and descends,

I awaken far away,
With nary a memory of mine own,
Just the stink of sorcery upon my brow.

Secret Garden

Wandering bewildered in a lawn maze,
I found this place,
By mistake or chance,
This verdant museum,
This garden of secrets,
Its emerald prizes did not come free,
The thorns acted an entry toll upon my arms,
But oh was it worth it,
Almost did I prostrate myself,

My eyes did bathe in supernal botany,
A wonderland without a red queen,
Trees holding up the firmament,
Flowers abound of every persuasion,
Little cardinals splaying to their solar deity,
The pristine lawn a parade ground of green,
Drilled by uniformed peacock life guards,
I could remain here forever,
Yet such divinity can only exist in folklore,
So I wrench open my eyes.

Pixies

Having grown lost and confused,
My compass a hopeless compatriot,
I tire of traversal,
I cease for repose in a shrouded glade,
Flanked by vines and caressed by grass almost glowing,
But my rest is quickly cut short by weight of eyes,
A million foreboding fireflies,

Miniscule beings of glamour I notice,
Little simulacra of humans,
Hiding behind toadstools and tulip buds,
Scores upon scores,
I hear them flitter,
Giggling and chanting in shrill tongues,
Sounds from every direction,

Skeptical of their intentions,
Whether foul or fair,
I bade them come clean,
But instead they plied their folkloric magics,
Binding me in cruel ivy,
Laying claim to me as a plaything,
Still their hollering chorus cried on,

For decades I have remained here,
Still bound in enchanted green,
A literal piece of garden furniture,
Subject to jests and jabs of fancy,
Endless riddles and unfair games,
My torment at their hands may go on for eternity,
A nightmare wrought in trickery and thaumaturgy,

I implore you,
Beware the fae glades,
Beware the pixies.

Arcadia

Beware the Fae,
The gentry of Arcadia,
The red queens and lords of the hunt,
Beings of glamour and madness,
They long for new playthings,

They’ll take you,
The Others,
Kicking and screaming,
Through the labyrinthine paths of thorns,
To their twisted wonderlands,

The emerald thorns,
Of the supernal hedge,
They’ll tear you up body and spirit,
You’ll be unrecognisable,
A changeling,

Your life will be ousted by another,
A simulacrum of your form,
A perfect fetch,
Nobody will know you’ve been taken,
Nobody shall even miss you,

A fairyland of wyrd,
A realm of hobgoblins and trolls,
Pixies and elementals,
Memories will become as dreams,
Are you still yourself?

Will you remember who you were?
Will you escape?
Claw your way back through the hedge,
Collapse finally in the world you were born,
A world you no longer belong in,

But remember,
Faeries are spiteful things,
Who’s to say they won’t come looking?
Nobody likes losing a toy after all.