The Never-ending Story

Witch's brew made with dry ice

Was there a beginning--
a time when that scratching,
papery scurrying wasn't?
A time before ideas
feeding in the shadows
were lured in with scattered crumbs
and incantations,
spun onto a page,
then shredded.

Ceramic clinking--
mortar and pestle
grinding frail symbols to dust.
Blended with sweat and tears,
forming the paste,
binding the thousand bones
that frame a tale.

Bubbling black broth
one eye of critic,
six toads and a frog.
A pair of princes
and a rogue plot bunny
tossed in for spice.

Watching the plot thicken.
A mist rises,
glittering metaphors
clinging to bones like dew.

adds flesh,
breathes life into form.

Dragons are slain.
Damsels rescue princes.
Princes find the magic amulet.
Spells broken.
Kingdoms  freed.
People rejoice.
The fire goes out.
The gate clangs shut.
The drawbridge drawn.
Tale Told.

Time to say goodbye.

It needs a touch more something...
Hair of dragon?
Rose petals plucked by the light of a moonbow?

Was there a time when this tale wasn't?
Will there be an end?

This post was written in response to this week's Carry On Tuesday Prompt. Click here to see what others have written or to join the fun yourself.

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