Roses grew
on the trellis of Aurora’s tattoos
as she slept through the century.
Beauty,
casket of youth,
years ornamental
photographs forgettable
silken skin laid to rest
within silken album sheets.
Aurora’s heartbeat never raced from passion,
but in her lifelong dreams, she pondered
whether man would mature past dragon.
Burning fire,
wide wings of ambition,
scales of privilege
hardened as armor.
The dragon’s world is intimidation,
and possession.
While beauty dreamt of riding spikes,
her keeper hoarded o’er her skin.
She was the best of that year’s bloom,
which he would not dare to awaken,
preferring his prize kept in a case.
Secretly worried that her beauty
might kill the beast within.
Written for a fairytale image contest. 300 words or less and had to incorporate a classic fairytale. I think I may have hit several.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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