Bedtime Stories

Once upon a time,
irregular geometric shapes danced across marble floor.
Majestic windows grazed the sky.
Velvet, silk and furs
trailed, scoffed and grazed the icy bottom.
Laced buttoned leather treaded lightly
over the tinted rays.
Satin reflected, velvet absorbed.

Once upon a time,
yellow swirls play over gleaming varnished floor,
skipping across littered novels.
Stiff blue curtains frame square windows.
Pinpricks dot the sky,
a car squeals by.

A lone ray
shone upon a golden chair,
he sat under his golden crown.
Fine fabrics gave birth to layers,
pleats and seams.
All enveloped limbs.
Slender fingers warmed
precious metals and stones.
All wealth spoke quietly under his cape.

A small boy sits upon his bed,
fingers clutch thin typed pages.
Ink shadows extend clawed hands.
Minute sobs rip through his body,
radiating palpable fear.
He grabs at his blanket.
He mourns attention.

Its violet length rested on proud shoulders,
finest velvet known to man.
A hue true to position.
A purple reeked of bitter wine
sounded like a thick liquid crashing against an empty goblet.
He sat before his subjects,
his body a mountain range,
his cape snow and his face a rising sun.
He feared not from the world.
Nothing stood in his way.

Soft fabric settles over slender shoulders,
the sound like an exhaled breath.
With the hue of sugary grape juice,
it clings to him like a fresh plum's fluid;
he folds himself under thick cotton strands.
No light shines through.