I’m so thrilled with Lady Gage’s new album. I love her dance and pop-music stuff but her new songs, some of them go deep. This is one of those songs and I used the lyrics “Angel Down” for this poem. What I love is how in the video she is live, and sounds the same as if you were listening to her on her new album. Talented singer!
She built her life, she built it strong, made it so —
It wouldn’t fall;but you can fortify —
The keep, make it so no one can slip in,
There are always cracks within perfection;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
You can see the lines forming before she breaks,
Memories from the past she thought would save.
She’s safe –an illusion broken when the mirror —
Of life shatters within her face, she’s beat;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
Trapped in a birdcage, no song to sing,
Her tunes aren’t lucid and her wings are clipped,
Such dreams as a young woman, such glad times,
Now she’s angry, so frustrated — life’s a lie;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
Paints her makeup mask, hide the mirror’s blood tracks,
She thinks she’s imperfect tries to conceal —
New dress, she’s pretty, long legs on display yet,
She can’t hide feelings, she doesn’t fit in here;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
He said heels were stupid, girls can’t walk on —
Four-inch needles; yet they made her happy.
Night of the dance, stumbled; wore light blue chucks,
Sitting on the radio at the party crying;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
Years pass, another day spent sifting in,
Her see-through life, on clothing racks, she —
Attempts to find the perfect fit, but she —
Knows like her, it’s elusive, can’t be found;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
Music saves some, for others it magnifies,
A hurt and hole inside her –can God even fill?
Remembering hideaways, experiences —
To fill the void within, smile with tears dripping;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
Time in lavish living rooms, won’t make her,
Feel love she’s so denied; she can’t even —
Love her own body, isn’t what it was,
She fingers trinkets bought, fears with tears smear;
Angel Down, Angel Down.
Jewel she thought would invoke good memories,
Fill her with hope and joy again; sharp pains of —
“1.conceived or appearing as if conceived by an unrestrained imagination;odd and remarkable; bizarre; grotesque:fantastic rock formations; fantastic designs.2.fanciful or capricious, as persons or their ideas or actions:We never know what that fantastic creature will say next.3.imaginary or groundless in not being based on reality; foolish orirrational:fantastic fears.4.extravagantly fanciful; marvelous.5.incredibly great or extreme; exorbitant:to spend fantastic sums of money.6.highly unrealistic or impractical; outlandish:a fantastic scheme to make a million dollars betting on horse races.7.Informal. extraordinarily good:a fantastic musical.”
Unrestrained, beauty of the game,
Uncontained, no limits are found.
Unrestrained, freedom without shame.
Uncontained, leaping with no sound.
Undetained, words flowing amaze.
Undenied creativity —
Unconceived all the possibilities,
Undenied art — ingenuity.
Art, there is no limits, no bounds,
Start, nothing ventured is the same.
Art, bizarre and odd, they surround.
Start, with words; imagination reigns.
Impart advice: “Do What You Like.”
Dart here, there –no right way exists.
Art, the forms of imagination,
Dart, the fantasticalpersists.
” A Lento consists of two quatrains with a fixed rhyme scheme of abcb, defe as the second and forth lines of each stanza must rhyme. To take it a step further, but not required, try rhyming the first and third lines as well as the second and forth lines of each stanza in this rhyming pattern: abab, cdcd. The fun part of this poem is thrown in here as all the FIRST words of each verse should rhyme. There is no fixed syllable structure to the Lento, but keeping a good, flowing rhythm is recommended.”
Welcome to another edition of my bi-weekly interview series. I’m excited to share with you a talented and beautiful poet, writer, and interviewee — my friend of many years on WordPress — blogger Ameena K.G. The way her poems flow and the lessons they teach, often amaze me. You can visit Ameena’s blog here: Randoms by a Random.
1.Please Tell Us About Yourself Ameena:
My name is Ameena and I am from Nigeria, although for the past five-years, Sudan has been my home. I am currently studying there.
I am a medical student in my fifth-year. When I’m not busy studying, I love to write poetry and stories. I enjoy watching videos of poetry read out-loud on YouTube and watching documentaries on YouTube as well. Comedy is one of myfavourite genres to watch. Anything which makes me laugh is welcome. My day begins with prayer, then I drink a cup of black coffee to help me make it through the day.
2. When Did You Begin Writing and Blogging?
I began writing when I was in high school, mostly poetry and short stories, but I didn’t write on a regular basis. My poems are and were, a reflection of how I feel.
Eventually I started a blog here on WordPress, it lasted only a bit before I deleted it. Let’s just say, my state of mind when I wrote on my first blog and on my blog now, are polar opposites. One great thing to come out of my initial short blogging stint was making friends in the WordPress community who motivated me to keep on writing.
My current blog is my second go at blogging. I had no intention of making my second blog a poetry blog (I thought I was done with poetry) but I guess, just because one leaves poetry, doesn’t mean poetry leaves you. On my second try at blogging I found myself writing again and loving it.
“I had no intention of making my second blog a poetry blog . . . but I guess, just because one leaves poetry, doesn’t mean poetry leaves you. On my second try at blogging I found myself writing again and loving it.” – Ameena
3. What Does Writing and Poetry Mean to you? Where Do You Find Your Inspiration For Writing?
Poetry for me is a way of introspection and it’s also the way I deal with life’s curve balls. I feel, I hurt, I write…
My inspiration comes from human beings. We are emotional creatures and I love to channel those feelings into words.Failure, successes, dreams, love, sadness, pain, heartbreak, all of these experiences are part of being human;writing helps me deal with these emotions. Almost all of my poems are inspired by life experiences and those don’t necessarily have to be my experiences.
4. Do You Find There Is a Time of Day You Prefer to Write?
I am a morning person. I love to wake up at dawn, pray, watch the sun rise with a cup of coffee at hand, and write. A lot of people don’t understand how I can wake-up in the morning with a huge smile in my face, but really, my best days are dayswhen I wake up early.
” My inspiration comes from human beings. We are emotional creatures and I love to channel those feelings into words. Failure, successes, dreams, love, sadness, pain, heartbreak, all of these experiences are part of being human; writing helps me deal with these emotions.” – Ameena K.G.
5. Do You Have Any Current or Future Writing Projects?
Right now, unfortunately, blogging has taken a back seat in my life. It wouldn’t be fair to say I am busy; it’s solely a matter of priority. I love blogging and writing but my education comes first for me, and my life over recent months has been stressful.
Still, I’m hoping to revive my Mental Health Friday series on my blog, which even though I’ve shelved it for months now, receives visits and views; I’d like to continue the series. Additionally, I recently ventured into Flash Fiction writing. I enjoy it, and would like to write more Flash Fiction and improve my fiction writing.
6. Have You Published Any Poetry or Writing or Would You Like To?
I only found out a week ago that a poem I submitted was chosen to appear in a poetry anthology.The poem is called, “Imperfect Paths” which will be published on the 30th of September. I would love to publish more poetry and writing someday. Right now my goal is to write as much as I’m able and to improve my writing with every piece.
“I only found out a week ago that a poem I submitted was chosen to appear in a poetry anthology. The poem is called, “Imperfect Paths” which will be published on the 30th of September.” – Ameena K.G.
7. Do You Have A Publishing Process When You Write? What Is Your Writing Process Like?
Currently, I don’t have a process. I have only started submitting some of my works to online magazines. It’s pretty easy to do actually. But I have no experience in the publishing world.
There’s nothing to my writing process. I sit and write even on the days when I don’t feel like it — I still write.When I’m in need of inspiration, I read other poems or Google search images or photographs to help provide me with something to focus on for writing, a kind of writing prompt.
8. Do You Prefer to Read Certain Writing Genres? Any Helpful Advice for Other Writers?
As a reader, I love a bit of mystery. I am a huge crime fiction fan and I also love stories which make me laugh out loud. When it comes to reading poetry, I’m not big on metaphors. I enjoy emotions and description in simple words.
As for advice for other writers: Write no matter what –rainy days, sunny days, even days when your writing muse is AWOL. The best way to get better at writing is to simply do it –write.
Always remember — you’re a writer, so embrace it, hug it, love it. If it is your passion, then nobody has the right to tell you to tame it.
“Write no matter what –rainy days, sunny days, even days when your writing muse is AWOL. The best way to get better at writing is to simply do it –write. Always remember — you’re a writer, so embrace it, hug it, love it. If it is your passion, then nobody has the right to tell you to tame it.” – Ameena K.G.
9. Is There Anything Else You Would Like to Share Which You Believe is Pertinent to Your Writing or Yourself?
When it comes to my writing, I’d say this: Don’t try to interpret what I wrote from my perspective. I believe to different people poetry has different meanings. I remember writing a poem about a father who never stood up for his daughter. The poem was inspired by someone who I’d say broke my trust.
Things aren’t always black and white in poetry and writing. All that matters is that the reader can understand and relate to what you write; it doesn’t matter if the poem is true for the writer, as long as it rings true for the reader.
10. Please Share With Us Some of Your Writing and/or Poetry:
And I told it,
Have a seat,
It wasn’t even dawn,
At least let me have a cup of coffee,
In peace, at least-
I said to my depression.
Depression knocked on my door,
And I welcomed it
With open arms,
We’ve been together
For so long now,
We might as well be friends,
Depression knocked and I welcomed it.
Depression knocked on my door,
And we had a one sided-
While the sky turned golden behind us,
You’ve had your stay
And I have entertained you,
Now- it’s time to take your leave,
I said to my depression.
Depression knocked on my door,
Like an unwanted guest,
Which tends to overstay it’s welcome.
But the birds sung a melodious,
Tune In the background,
And I turned the door knob
To a lock,
With a passion I didn’t think,
Existed within me,
I said to my depression- We are done!
Check-Out Some Links to Some of Ameena’s Other Writing and Poetry Here:
Thank you so much to Ameena for agreeing to be interviewed and sharing with other bloggers and readers your point of view on writing and poetry. Your perspective is inspiring, candid, and honest, that’s a vital aspect to have in writing and in life in general.
If you enjoyed this interview and would like to share with other writers and bloggers your perspective, process on writing, and something unique about yourself and your writing, please reach-out to me on myContact Page here.
I think different moments are memorable at certain times. I think the one which sticks out most was the second last time I saw my Grandpa E. He grabbed my hand as I hugged him and asked if he still had a little girl to sit on his lap. He was gripping my hand tightly and suddenly, I remembered being a girl of three-years old sitting on my Grandpa’s lap as he drove his tractor to mow the grass:
He told me, “Someday Grandpa won’t have a little girl,to sit on his lap.” I smiled at him. I remember wanting to make him smile. Grandpa was serious. I told him, “You’ll always have a little girl to sit on your lap.” I remember the brightest smile on his face.
And as he lay dying I repeated that line from long ago to him. He dropped my hand and smiled. The effort grasping my hand had worn him out.
2.When was your last time of having tears of joy?
I don’t recall honestly. Maybe when the Oilers made the Stanley Cup Final in 2006. But that was a long time ago.
3. What do you like the best about blogging?
Sharing my writing. It relaxes me and allows me to have a creative outlet. I like interacting with other bloggers and seeing my writing and others writing improve over time.
My Three Questions:
1. Did you ever have a favourite pet growing up or later on?
2. Do you blog to write or write to blog, or do you have some other purpose for blogging?
Thank you to Lady Lee Manila for tagging me for the quote challenge. I don’t have time to do three quotes for the next three days, but I will give you nine quotes all at once with nine nominees. It’s up to you if you want to participate.
Day 22 Prompt: Dangerous “Some things are obviously dangerous, like walking too close to a cliff, and other things, not so much. Free write for ten minutes exploring what is obviously dangerous, not so much, and what dangerous means to you. You could turn this into a rant poem, especially given the times.”
There is always present danger
There is always a need for caution
Caution is necessary
Caution keeps us alive
Alive isn’t enough
Alive means we need to be safe
Safe is a cloudy dream
Safe is an illusion
Illusions we love because they hide cold hard facts
Illusions keep us content
Content is all we can ask to be
Content not to be in danger
Danger hides and danger runs
Danger is wicked and tricky
Tricky because danger is not not upfront
Tricky because danger bides its time
Time waiting to harm us
Time waiting to strike and destroy
Destroying lives with vengeance
Destroying hearts with humourless mirth
Mirth –does it exist in harsh circumstances?
Mirth is it possible when tomorrow could be–
Be the end of life’s dreams?
Be the end of life without heart sight?
Sight to see the world shatter as glass
Sight to see how lost we are in the world
World where we wander feeling hopeless
World where we’re crushed by despair
Despair slips in and brings us to tears
Despair is a weapon danger employes
Employes to target are last reserves
Employes as those serving him as soldiers
Soldiers, mercenaries, to do the bloody work
Soldiers blinded by their own greed
Greed for money until it’s set a flame
Greed for money, not seeing –it’s only paper
Paper, the German Mark in the 1930’s, in suitcases
Paper marks, thousands were worthless
Worthlessness, don’t ever feel unwanted
Worthful, you’re as precious stones
Stones judgemental people throw
Stoning the accused sinner
Sinners we all are, it can’t be helped
Sinner –let he with the least sin cast the stone first
Darkness was stealing the light of day, taking my weary breath away; I prayed while the cold, careless ocean ripped my feet from the pathway of stone I stumbled down, attempting to reach the lighthouse door.
The storm raged and the sound of thunder, a giant drum rumbled and the clash of lightening frightened me; but above me the lighthouse torch glimmered, a shining beacon glowing in the dark for any passing ship –in my heart grew hope dimly.
I wondered how the Captain of the grand ship approaching, could see when the night was black and the shadow seemed to overcome us both; but I, as was the ships Captain, was blind to think darkness could swallow light; as the gleam of the lighthouse blended with the dawn, I was thankful to have survived a dreadful night, stuck outside the lighthouse door, no one to hear my quivering knocks; the storm surrounded me and roared while I witnessed the grand ship barely miss the rocks — the lighthouse torch grew brighter, just in time.
“Trees are necessary for our very existence on this earth, they produce the air we breathe. We build houses with them and create many products that we use everyday with them. What personal role do trees have in your life? Do you have a favorite tree in your yard or one that you walk or drive by frequently? Free write for ten minutes exploring the world of trees.”
The park is peaceful silent, as mid-day sun strays,
Walking through foliage, even footsteps —
Can be heard, where branches carve a ceiling cave.
Though the sky is cheerful blue, branches yet,
Make the trails paved, a hollowed place away —
Screaming city lights, and loud conversation met,
With the quiet, the tranquil breath, gifted by trees,
No sadness here, a happy place held dear.
The drifting leaves, paying tole, to dancing wind,
Blowing the rebirth of trees and their seeds far.
Slow lazy walk, furry dog smelling scents, grins.
Curious thing, to see a dog smile, laughing bark.
Nature cradles us, magic trees rekindled.
Hidden we are in treasured lands, our star —
Bright light always near, to show us the path to roam.
Nature’s dreamy pause, returns with us to home.
——- ” A Ottava Rima is a poem written in 8-line octives. Each line is of a 10 or 11 syllable count in the following rhyme:
1. one octive poem. abababcc 2. two octive poem. abababcc, dededeff
3. three octive poem. abababcc, dededeff, ghghghii.”
Alice was excited to be eighteen and have her coming-out party in society. The young girl who talked nonsense about Wonderland was gone — the adult had almost swallowed her fantastical self completely.
She participated in garden parties, having tea in different settings such as fashionable tea rooms with her mother and girl friends. Alice went out with friends on picnics and sometimes on a double-date with a girl friend, two gentlemen with potential, and of course a chaperone.
Part of Alice always had a difficult time letting go of Wonderland. She knew it as a world infinantly crazy. At the same time, it was a place where she felt at home and life even though hidden beneath words and rhymes, made the most sense out of any place she had visited.
Alice had been around the world. Her father and mother had taken her to Europe. She had seen art and buildings thousands of years-old. She studied countless kings, queens, poets, philisophers, and clergymen as she travelled with a tutor. She had even been to the Orient, stocking up on silk and tea for he friends. Something about having tea, always appealed to her. It wasn’t merely Victorian society’s obsession with the past-time.
Throughout her travels, Alice found herself thinking about her days in Wonderland. She would consider if her two grand adventures actually occurred. If the dreams she still had of people and creatures in Wonderland — new and old, throughout her life –were true?
Alice could picture her Wonderland friends drinking tea, eating cookies, and talking nonsense; it had all felt real. She missed her childhood, but at the same time thought she had indeed been bonkers. Her friends at school had quickly shown her how odd little girls were treated and mocked, until Alice ceased talking about Wonderland at all.
As she grew-up, she believed she caught glimpses of a furry white rabbit in a vest following her, keeping watch. The White Rabbit would turn his head and smile at Alice, purposefully checking his pocket watch and then waving it at her. She didn’t know what the White Rabbit wanted from her and she was never quite sure if he was real. Alice began to ignore the White Rabbit, but he was persistent, even invading her sleep. Her dreams became increasingly vivid and she felt wherever she went, traces of Wonderland and its inhabitants, grasped her with dreamy tendrils.
Since Alice had first returned from Wonderland as a small girl of six, a pair of intense green-eyes and an attractive smile, had haunted her dreams. She knew this man, knew he’d always been watching out for her in the stickiest of situations as she grew up, keeping her safe. Alice had never had the chance to meet this young man, only knew that he lingered in her presence often, and that when he she felt him, she was at peace.
Alice’s eigteenth birthday was a grand affair. Several young men and women attended with their families. Last night had been an opulent coming-out ball but tonight was a private affair for Alice and her closest girl friends. The best potential suitors for Alice and her friends were also invited.
She was sipping her tea when her eyes caught the eyes of a man she thought to be about five years her senior. His green-eyes were familiar and glinted knowingly at Alice. She stared at him enthralled; he seemed to know she was drawn to him. His smile was devastatingly familiar, but only in her dreams. Alice wasn’t sure she believedher dreams were genuine. Could magic still be real?
The young man was a strange creature to her, as strange as those creatures she’d met in Wonderland long ago. Perhaps more so, if the sins of the flesh the Abbot talked about were as terrible as he said they were. But Alice didn’t much care about the Abbot’s warnings. She was intrigued and had always been a curious girl; she peered at the green-eyed man considering him.
His suit was finely-made and he smiled at her boldly. He moved towards her, but Alice hid amongst her friends, not yet ready to meet him. Her heart fluttered when her eyes met the young man’s mysterious green-eyes again; he was laughing at her shyness.
Alice perturbed by his making fun of her, left her own party and went outside to ponder. She sat on a bench in the garden behind her house. She still tended the roses in the garden but had forgotten the unique song of all flowers, she had sung as a child. Her roses were wilting and dry. She stood up and bent to pick a lone surviving rose. Hearing odd noises she looked up.
She was unsure of where she was at first, the garden had disappeared and Alice stood on a large slippery brown rock in the middle of an ocean. A young man in a boat rowed towards her and the noises she heard was the water lapping against the stone.
“Oh, do hurry, this rock is so small and I think the water is rising,” Alice yelled to the man. She waved her arms until the boat was next to the rock and piercing green-eyes met her shocked blue ones. Strong hands gently held her steady as she stepped into the row boat.
Alice was grateful to the man, but then she recognized his face from the party. He pushed his short dark-brown waves from his forehead. His green-eyes knowingly studied Alice. She felt as a if she were a child again, under a teacher’s gaze, but the young man was not upset at her; he seemed curious and careful with her instead.
“Alice,” the young man said, “Please take a seat so I can row us to safer waters and neither one of us falls in the ocean.” Alice obeyed, sitting opposite of the man with her mouth gaping. The man gently closed her mouth, smoothing her skin with the back of his hand.
Alice’s face heated and she blushed,”Who are you? And why are you here with me in Wonderland? I didn’t think you were real, real enough to attend my party.”
The young man’s eyes twinkled cheerfully, “I’m Wren, Alice, and I’m here and yourhere because Wonderland needs us. It was time for you to return and time I met you in person — not only in your dreams.” Alice flushed red.
Wren chuckled, “You didn’t go easy on our friend the White Rabbit. He’s a bit peeved at you for ignoring him so long. He kept waving his prized watch at you. I’m surprised you weren’t curious enough to follow him, darling.”
“Wren, are you from Wonderland or did you come here as a child too, like me? You’ve been with me before a great deal. I remember your green-eyes and smile; you keep me safe, but you never say hello. I’ve never seen how you actually look before.”
“Dearest, I’ve always lived in Wonderland and you’re correct, I’ve been with you when you’ve visited and I take care you are safe in the outside world. I have a Cheshire Cat who watches you closely, along with my friend the White Rabbit. I haven’t always been able to be with you, but when I cannot you can be sure the Cheshire Cat or the White Rabbit are there.”
“Why do you keep me safe Wren and why do you call me dearest? I always thought you lived only in my dreams. It’s been so long since I visited through the looking glass; do you stand with the Red Queen or the White Queen?”
Wren smiled softly as he rowed the boat effortlessly, Alice peppering him with questions; he listened contentedly as he rowed. “I’m supported by the White Queen Alice, but my influence is greater than hers and so yourinfluence will be greater than any queen as well.”
Alice studied Wren. She had been staring her boots shyly, for far too long. It wasn’t like her to be shy, when she bubbled with questions. Yet, she could feel herself blush anytime she looked at Wren; his smile brightened when he caught Alice staring.
She brushed the blond hair out of her eyes and in her frilly white dress, balled her hands together on her lap, determined to have a long look at Wren. She was assured she’d seen him before in some form and felt his presence keeping her from harm. Wren was beautiful to Alice; he was handsome and lithely muscled beneath his clothes. He was from Wonderland so she was pleased not to have to hide nonsensicallogic from him; he already would understand what Wonderland was like.
She noticed his eyes peruse her and Alice blushed again. Wren reached for her small hand and squeezed it gently, as he stopped rowing the boat. “Alice, you’re beautiful. As a girl, I thought you a fascinating girl, defeating the Red Queen and deftly dealing with Time. You had such a tousled head of blond hair and you still do. You’ve the same inquisitive blue-eyes and you’ve grown into a stunning woman,” Wren told her squeezing her hand again. He seemed genuine and the compliments made Alice flustered.
“Your beauty is also an asset when one has been tasked to guard Wonderland as we have,” Wren continued.”Beauty can attract and fool people and often, at the same time,” Wren said, absently stroking circles on Alice’s hand. “It’s hard for me to explain. Especially since I’ve much more experience than you’ve in life. Humans ageslowly in Wonderland –most creatures here do. But as in any land, we have ourownways to protect and our own tyrants to fight. You have proven yourself twice against our foes.”
Wren held both her hands firmly, appearing serious, “We have always had two guardians at a time, for a thousand Wonderland years each pair, ensuring Wonderland’s survival. Our guardians are a couple; a couple is stronger than one being. I am one guardian, born in Wonderland and familiar with its ways,” Wren said.
“The second guardian is you, Alice, born of the outside world. You have learned and come to love Wonderland — though lately you pretend otherwise. You are the second guardian Alice and I’ve waited forever for you, my other half. You know forever can be a very long time.”
Alice blushed and then upon realizing the great responsibility she now had, her face went white, “Why me? Is this why I have never been able to forget Wonderland all these years ? Am I to marry you, a man I don’t really know?
Wren grinned at Alice tugging gently on her hands as she tried to free herself from his touch; he chuckled, playfully. Alice began to smile too and as she peered up from their joined hands, she saw the row boat resting on a beach. They stepped over the side of the boat and the vivacity and colour of Wonderland surrounded her as they walked into the forest. The flowers greeted Alice immediately, so happy she had returned.
Wren stopped walking a moment, turning to face Alice. He was heads above her and tilted her chin up to look at him. “My Alice,” he began, “Magic is a curious thing. It can find the right people and draw them together. It has always driven me to you. I have loved you since I first saw you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“But it does Alice. You believe in magic, yes?” Alice nodded.
“Then you know. If you want magical things to happen, you must believe in them. We must believe in each other. And what’s knowing? People are together fifty-years in your world and they don’t know each other. Often, they’ve forgotten the magic — the love, between them. Here the world is magic and I will not forget you or our love.”
“Wren, I’m particularly fond of you. I’ve never felt this way, except about you, ever — only in dreams when you visited, when I felt you near somehow. Is that love and is it enough? And I’m only eighteen-years-old, how can I guard Wonderland?
Wren smiled and he gently pecked Alice’s lips.”We have forever. Forever is a thousand Wonderland years. All your old friends are here. Not those girls who were cruel to you for being you at school. Wonderland needs us both and you will soon know me as I know you. We will even know each other better than most people ever know each other. What you feel for me, I’m so thankful for. And yes it is enough, it is the beginning of love.”
“I’m not sure couples should always know each other better. Sometimes secrets are better kept,” Alice said thoughtfully.
“Dearest, we cannot have secrets. We have a responsibility but we have a haven in each other and perhaps much later, a child to carry on as guardian with another girl or boy from your world, when forever comes,” Wren stated stroking Alice’s cheek.
“I can trust you, Wren? I’d rather have the truth in a nonsensical way than an outright lie,” Alice said firmly staring at Wren.
He blushed this time, “I will be truthful to you —nonsensically and sensically.”
Alice smiled and kissed Wren’s cheek before saying,”You never said Wren, who do we guard Wonderland from?”
“From reality, Alice. From those who do not believe in magic. For those who would tell people love is not real and everything has to be logical and makesense. Though our world is much nonsense, we make moresense than the real world. There are always monsters in the midst and as you know, timehimself is often one of them. So are Queens and many tyrants, there is always a badguy somewhere I’m afraid,” Wren said a bit tiredly.
Alice stared at Wren, standing on her tippy-toes, and stroking his stumbled cheeks in comfort. She felt drawn to Wren, as if she were in a pleasant fog. Gently her lips met Wren’s for a kiss. He kissed her back more intensely and she could feel what she knew was passion between them; it was Alice’s first real kiss. They lingered a while, walking and teasing each other, stealing more kisses which were more difficult for Alice to step away from each time.
A stray thought occurrred to her as they walked, “Won’t my mother miss me?” Alice asked, “How can I leave her alone?”
“She will believe you married a wealthy heir and will be pleased, as that will be the truth; we can visit her often, though she will be gone for most of your lifetime.”
Alice nodded feeling sad, but realizing her duty with Wren. She wasn’t afraid, knowing he was with her. She knew their relationship was blossoming and would flourish, perhaps, with ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ as couples had — but perhaps, better. Their connection had been built her entire life.
Taking Wren’s hand, Alice walked off into Wonderland. How curious her home would be here with Wren and his green–eyes gazing at her with love, and the White Rabbit out of no where, jumping beside them.