Whispers Of The Fey

I was not made for metal skies and clocks that scream time into my veins.

I was born of dew and dawns light, a creature of wing and whisper.

And yet, here I am;

stumbling across concrete that does not bloom beneath my feet.

The world does not believe in me anymore.

They trade wonder for Wi-Fi, magic for money, starlight for screens.

And still, my aura hums electric,

still my hands trail sparks when I touch what others call ordinary.

It is lonely, to be a fairy in a world that crowns greed as king, to hold a heart tuned to song when the air is filled with sirens.

But I keep my wings tucked close,

I keep my glow hidden in plain sight.

I slip enchantment into small places, like a stranger’s sudden smile, a flower cracking through sidewalk stone, or in a dream that refuses to die.

They call me strange, but strange is only another word for sacred.

Even here, in this steel and shadow age, I carry the old light.

I am proof that wonder still breathes, even when the world forgets to look for it.