Lockdown Writing Competition – A Bed of Moss

Mushrooms cover a long fallen tree

Their fungi taking advantage of the vulnerability of death

The girl wonders

Will this happen to me?

Will my corpse be attacked by Persephone’s wrath?

For she will not lay in a coffin

Its walls cushioned the colour of cream

Like the tree, the girl will someday fall

Her body the bed for moss.

Birds tweet in a scatter of sound

Their noises rich with intent, but weakened without purpose.

The girl wonders

Will this happen to me?

Will the moon, which I trusted, make a fool of my head?

For she will not have another bird to tweet with

Its song intertwining with hers

Like the birds, the girl will someday fall

Her voice used only for chirps.

Moonlight is the silk seal for a river

And the pale water washes over her like a familiar song.

The girl wonders

Will this happen to me?

Will my ashes flow beneath my dear Luna’s eye?

Yet her ashes will not be scattered

In a river that she holds dear.

Unlike the river, she has no immortal soul

To mourn hears with such care.

Glass shatters beneath the kitchen bench

The cries spoken in a similar shatter

The girl knows

This will happen to her

Glass laying next to her head

For she is in a prison

Unforgiving, without beauty

Like the glass, she will shatter on the ground

Moss allows for a softer fall.

By Cerys Gibby – Year 9

A child with no friends and a library full of books is the perfect recipe for either a passionate writer and reader or an absolute disaster – I chose both.