I watched from my window last night, in the dead of night I saw her. Queen Mab, the queen of dreams. She was riding a horse, As black as the night. Its reigns are silver threads of spider spun silk, like moonbeams, hung out to dry. The buckles are mother of pearl, taken from the sea shells of the Mariana trench. On her head sat a tightly woven crown of the daintiest pink and purple flowers. In her hand, she holds a golden whip made from a thousand golden threads. I watched as she rode her black horse through the fog-covered city. She cracked her whip and her dark steed sped forwards, it’s hooves burned bright trails in the cold night sky. It’s flaring nostrils breathed cold clouds into the London atmosphere. As she rode, she reached forward and cracked her whip once more, it arched into the air like a golden beacon. As it rose, it extended, upwards like a dove, spiralling up to the stars. I watched as the whip’s chains split and reared up like a snake. Each one shot forwards, speeding towards each of the windows where a child was sleeping. Suddenly each strand burst into life with a thousand streaming images. A separate consciousness alive in each one. A thousand intertwining connecting dreams. All tiny parts of a single, all-encompassing, soon to be erased legend. The beautiful connections hung for a second, then tumbled away to the floor, where they vanished, into the dust.
~So I know this one is a bit weird and a tad childish in the manner of writing but it is meant to be. It’s a take on Shakespeare’s monologue by Mercutio about Queen Mab~ Please check out some of my other pieces and share on Facebook and Instagram~
-Thanks, W.B-
Words Alive 