Maples Fable (Narrative Poem)

              Cultivating the world with fear

           they slither far from here to near. 

                            In a world

                              a field

                of straw and hay people

   lived a human girl by the name of Maple. 

          Turning to straw was once a fear

               now it’s turned into a cure

                nobody is able to adhere. 

       Stuck to the fields grounds made up of grays and browns

        she dresses in her lovely gown. 

         A gown made up of blacks and blues

          the sun settles on her awful gloom. 

      Looking nice ended up feeling like ice

       the sun beamed heat right over her. 

                       Melted and alone

       she thinks of all the stones yet to be left upthrown. 

          Carrying the stones grew heavy

      but she thought she ought to not worry; 

                  she can’t turn back now. 

       In her fields of grays and browns

      she feels the wind flow around her gown

       that’s when she decides that she should probably sit down. 

             Sitting down with straw and hay

       she knows there’s nothing left to say. 

              Say it anyway, yes she will

  “I wish to be straw, I want my life to be still” 

                   Her feet caved inward

                    this is when she knew

                          that being still

                is something she could do. 

               Maple lived in a world of fear

            cultivated by those far too near; 

        she knew she had to do something. 

                        With no end in sight

                     she screamed out

                  but their will was so might; 

        she thought she couldn’t win this fight. 

         Whispers creeped closer in her ears; 

              they grew colder every year. 

 “Becoming hay means that you get to stay” 

            and so staying she considered. 

            Permitted from the outside world

      she thought that staying would be furled. 

           The wind flows around her gown

            now she can stay in the ground. 

                    Her hair turned to ice

       and that never turns into anything nice

              brittled and brown it burned. 

                  Into straw she became

            seeing around her the decay 

  made her realize why she so wanted to end her stay. 

          Her stay ought to have been over

    because stillness now won’t help her hold her composure

     there’s nothing left the world has to show her. 

               All the straw people claw

      and mostly the hay people just gnaw

           inside of herself she had curled. 

      Maple had thought that the field was her staple

        but nothing around her was capable. 

            Into the darkness she had grew

     taking with her all of the rainfalls dew. 

      Few had spoke of the way she became

 muttering to herself the same as she came. 

             Wishing for a life more tame 

        had led her to a sense of shame. 

             Far away from all held dear

                she began to disappear. 

      Rotting in her field with grounds of grays and browns

       she no longer could hear the sounds. 

                  Her fate became clear

                once she’d fully disappear

         for death is all that can adhere. 

            The night skies shine dark blue

                   her time is truly due

             for this is all she really knew. 

          Accepting that straw will not last

    although the hay she will surely surpass

      Maple has become one with the grass. 

       Cultivated in a world of fake people

                       all thats left now 

                             are the 

                              straw 

                               and 

                               hay 

                             people.