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ADELAIDE Independent Quarterly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Trimestral, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 

 

INNOCENCE
By Shayna Boisvert

 

 

 

 

Parthenon


Even within my youth, I sensed something...
I recall when it came to me
Tucked softly into bed

How irresistibly comforting it felt 
To be tucked within the sheets
I nnocent
Swiftly this would end...

I no longer
take for granted 
simplistic, loving actions
such as being tucked into bed

I slept so soundly
that I never did picture
those who didn't have 
comfort nor warmth

A realization 
startled me into
silence,                                                                                    

shocking my very conscious
my innocence
lost-

before Pan found 
Neverland,
before the fall of the Parthenon.

My life now,
a raindrop,
glistening,
caught in a spider's web.

Life would never go back,
Stuck in a permanent flight,
racing forward
as if being pursued-

The blue moon-  
Relentless white
overwhelming the dark
siege of twilight...

I long for a moment
a single instance
of true stillness

before Pan finds
Neverland,
before the fall of the Parthenon.

 

 

 

 

Smoked glass


i lie
beyond hurricanes made
only of smoke
and carpet which push moss
between your toes
trees that rub green
against stained glass
and daisy chains that blow
may against the iced ponds
of your collarbones and the mountain
peeks of your shoulders

"tales are written within our blood"
and i have mine to tell

if we're all folklore
strung up on seeds of dandelions
let me walk on glass
 i stole from
elysium,                                                                                                                                                  
shall we open pandora's box?
of eternal fire flashing crimson and blue
let me be a girl wearing a jester’s mask
 or perhaps cloaks of silver and lost baby 
teeth

 

 

 

 

Lily


Like a flower,
I allowed myself to be cut
Petals passed around
With their scent bringing happiness
To everyone, but me
They bring smiles to their faces
But the missing petals
Only cause me to wither away into nothing.

 

 

 

 

Eden


feet sift through
wispy emerald grass.
crimson ferns scratch
thy naked breast.

Innocence.
Fidelity.
Ecstasy.
Purity.

soft hands.
heart opened wide.
Full of Grace,
Free of Sin.

beware Forked Tongues
with words
dipped in honey
tricking Curious minds

making thou
Lust
for
Temptation

just one bite
to Fall
from
Grace

 

 

 

 

###



I always wished on stars
Yet I never prayed before bed.
What logic is there,

in nighttime prayers?

By age six my vocabulary,
excelled my mother’s.
At seven I made my first friend
When I was eight I realized
as the youngest,
I would be the last to die.

My thoughts began to race,
at age nine .
I read 'Hamlet’ myself,
when I was ten.
When I was eleven I taught myself guitar.
My friend laid on her deathbed,
when I was twelve.

I never had a true best friend.
I read
I played music

I was lost in my own head
At least there things made sense.


So now I try to swing 
to the clouds.
I wish on dandelions
by blowing the fairies away
And I hop over the cracks in the pavement
When no one is watching.

But it's not because I don't know how to grow up.
Its that I never truly was a kid.

 

 

 

 

shayna

About the Author:

Shay Boisvert is a sophomore at Saint Francis University in Loretto, Pennsylvania. She is majoring in English Literature and Philosophy and minoring in French Cultural Studies and Communication. She was inspired to become a writer after reading the Harry Potter novels at age eight and began writing in high school. Besides writing short stories, she is now an editor for her school’s literary journal Tapestries. Currently she is studying abroad in the south of France while working on her first novel.

 

 




 




 

 

 

     
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