3This poem was inspired by Peter Pan, and fueled by the 2003 movie version. Peter Pan doesn't have a specific eye color in the original version, and the movie itself allowed me to explore the tragic romantic side of the tale more deeply. Please let me know what you think through constructive criticism.
My heart shall be stolen
by a boy on the brink
traversing the night on invisible wings.
His smirk stirs my lust
though his smile be that of an imp,
his eyes alight akin to emeralds
unholy that fire though it be the fairy's glow.
Claims he to be young - that he be:
voice cracking and shoulders narrow.
His words are that of a boy
yet that voice is of a man
and it all leads to seduction
though of which sort?
He pulls me to the window,
offers his hand,
whispers promises and sweet nothings in my ear.
A man's voice pulls me
with the dream of eternal childhood
and I am pulled
though not by the promises he whispers
but the promises within his whisper
that awaken the whispers of promises within me.
And I hope that same promise whispers within him
hope - nay am now sure.
for I see that unholy gleam within his eyes
but it differs - no longer alight with fire
but by the glow of the dark pool
like lapis'
and his voice cracks with promises,
though the cracks differ
as he thrusts out his shoulders
and his smirk is the same;
yet not
for that smile is no longer impish
though he claims it so.
His words are that of a boy
yet that voice is of a man
and his utterances hold deep meaning,
though of which sort
that of boy or man?
My heart had been stolen
by a man on the brink
traversing the night on invisible wings.
His smile stirs my heart
but no longer my lust;
for he is
a boy on the brink
a man on the brink
always on the brink
unwilling to fly forward
unable to fall back.
His eyes are beautiful jeweled pools
with an unholy gleam in them
never meant to become holy;
for if they should
they should no longer be of beauty.
His smirk sets me aflame for it is
the smile of an imp
and shall lose it's glow
without the spirit of the fairies.
The promise that whispers within him
must not be fulfilled;
for if it is
he cannot fulfill
the promises he whispers,
and he shall no longer be
traversing the night on invisible wings
for those wings shall break
along the crack
that are in his voice
and have spread to his wings.
He differs now, still
claims he to be young
and it be true
though he is also old.
A man on the brink
unwilling to fall forward,
now he shall be
always on the brink
unable to fly back
unable to mend the cracks.
So many whispers,
so many promises,
none can be fulfilled;
for what is within him
is not his to give
and what is his to give
I have stolen from within him.
Though he is also old, he
must never cross the brink
for he shall lose
that unholy glow in his eyes
that pure beauty of his eyes
the smirk and the smile
the imp and the fairy
claim to be young:
claim to life.
My heart is stolen
by a soul on the brink
I have stolen from within him
a heart that
must never cross the brink,
for if it does
he shall never again be found
traversing the night on invisible wings.