Remember when ever night felt like saturday
When we were all both young and alive
Dancing and drinking and rolling on highs
We were the kings and the queens of the night
Chasing the moon and pulling down stars from the sky
Back when it felt like we could have done anything we wished for
And now that my years have grown longer
And my nights have lost sight of saturday
No longer  a king
Just a peasant wishing on a dream that keeps eluding me

it was on a hill of a clever neighborhood
the errant flow well guised beneath the clay
upon reach of the summit
she is all that can be held
her pull far too magnetic
her skin, akin to milk poured by Luna
her hair is the black of midnight
on the eve of the new moon
she sits facing inquiry with her injured one facing her
on a rounded copper colored chair
placed curbside
Sophia speaks then
a monotone misgiving
that pours out
as a sly pompous
indifference

You gambled away
with her heart and feelings
left her out in the cold
all alone

You try so hard to
wonder why she didn't come
back when clearly you
were the problem to her solution

The sky a darkened camouflage green
The ground a clear pitched blue
The sun a vivid ghost white
And the clouds a bright mustard yellow

Three sisters of foul prophecy
sharing one tooth and one ocular oddity
A great hero came entering the sisters cave alone
Wanting to inquire the whereabouts of the cursed stone

The hero requesting information for what he desired
he ransomed their eye for what he required
Being threatened the sisters gave the information he bequeathed
In returned he gave back the eye of which he seized