Margeaux le Magicien held the sparks in her nimble fingers like extensions of herself.
They called her name and like a spell she always came out to perform. She dreamed of dreams out of reach but easily seen while in her own world lived the dreams of dreamers.
They built her like the house that sheltered the dampened audience, women, men, children dancing in the rain. Layer by layer, she’ll grow in strength and through coats of paint, she’ll equal the beauty of whom she was made for.
Like a home,
she shattered into pieces,
broken by words and of by silence.
They built her like their home, torn and unforgiving. Uncaring and full of hatred. They built her to satisfy themselves, the happiness they could never reach only to realize, that even the momentary smiles meant nothing at all. She was made to make them laugh, to let time pass quickly and to pretend that the walls had no spikes.
Margeaux, mon enfant.
They cried out when she disappeared into the darkness that they stitched together for her. She dreamed many dreams that never saw the light but in her world lived the dreams of dreamers. Within the confines of the stars of her home, she dreamed in peace.
Margeaux is an original character of mine. This is a reflection poem of her character. Excuse the French. I really needed it to be French, but I don’t speak it though my sister does- but she’s currently not available for me to ask about the French lines. Those all came from Google Translate… yes, shame on me.