The purple grass sways in the quiet wind.
The blue moon whispers its way around the bend.
The silent cicadas wait in their huts.
This is a place where the nights never end.

The dry rain keeps all inhabitants warm.
The never-ending roads lead their way to nevarland.
The rich smiling willow swerves her dance.
The nearest nymph takes the nearest hand.

No grown ups are allowed, not even some man children.
This is the perfect place where innocence can roam.
To the fairy folk they use this as a place of trance.
To them it is a place called ‘Home Sweet Home’.

Here is a place where the weary are never tired.
Where the spiteful sprites fulfill their games.
And the trolls are merry with all of the fun.
And the poor children are not cursed with their names.

Its all too perfect, too good to be true.
Why go back to plain, uneventful lives lived out on earth,
When one could spend eternal youth here.
And spend immortal summer days in gay mirth.

In a place like this, you can only have fun.
In a perfect place like this there are no rules.
Only those who are a bore dare to run.
Those who would leave suffer death as fools.

When walking down the hall today,
I heard that only the Worst deserve the Best.
Why do the Best never have a say?
Can’t the Worst stop their ways, and give it a rest?
Why are the Best stuck to take the arrows and scorns?
And deal with the Worst because it is a birthright.
Why do they deal with this so calm. These sad thorns.
The opinions of the Best are so often contrite.
How many will withstand their silence in suffering.
The Worst have made their impression.
Words have always been baffling.
The Worst are the reason for this terrible recession.

If you wished me to be prolific,
You should have been more specific.

If you wished me to be gentle with you,
You should have specifically told me what to do.

You know what they say, rules are meant to bend.
Specific instructions are the ones you should send.

Level with me Doll.
How is this going to go down?
When are the shots going to call?
Don’t ail me with that beautiful frown.

I might be walking to my grave
With these wounds and a bottle of ***.
Lovely one, you must be brave
But know, if I lose, you must run.

I think he said it started at ten.
This situation is already bad.
I think I will wait till nine after then.
Death is only a phase, don’t be sad.

Some might call me a coward
Others might dub me a hero
But we must always march on forward.
We burned it to the ground, just like Nero.

Pack your bags at once.
Be ready on the fly to flee.
If I am a fool, I will be a dead dunce.
If I survive, know that I will be back for thee.

Know this my darling Katherine
That this deadly roadside cult,
Even when the end didn’t begin,
This was never your fault.

A God bless you, to all my teachers.
I know it was hard,
But you definitely managed to reach her.

In  Gupton's Math,
You managed to make me laugh
When the rest of them wouldn't dare cross your path.

In  Lotvedt's Social Studies
It was hard staying awake
But I think I managed to make us buddies.

In Phibbs' Science
I learned a little about my body,
and you taught us a little self reliance.

In Vinger's Writing,
you had a great sense of humor
and managed to teach me the art of citing.

In McLeod's Reading,
The place I loved and learned the most
I learned to put my trust in the love of succeeding

Catch me in your net,
Study me with inquisitive eyes,
The future I have foretold has been set.
Beware, my captor, of all of your compulsive lies.

Stuck in a jar,
A sealed glass cage,
My people separated few and far,
My dying life suspended by rage.

The scratch of your pencil screams,
Against the yellowed papyrus page,
Colored ink closes in the seams.
Look closer, you will see, I’m not blue, but a golden sage.

Your little girl finds me fascinating,
Only a few things I will ask,
Give me back my wings for flying,
And please ask your daughter to stop shaking the glass.

Your scalpel brings me no joy,
Removing my only span of hope.
I am not a toy.
No never again will my wings and I elope.

Press my scaled soul like flowers,
Label it very precisely.
I have been stripped of all my worldly powers,
No revenge I shall exact will be done the least bit nicely.

The day has come,
You have let me go.
The world has lost its color for some,
This only goes to show.

The reds seem dull,
The blues seem shallow,
Helpless I cry, helpless I pull
My once beautiful body has come so low.

I’m to curl in a corner,
Beneath my old favorite petal,
My lifespan forced shorter,
Every move I make, it’s like i'm made of lead metal.

My last few moments,
In natures once beautiful land,
Even a winged angel cries and laments,
And comes to take a broken butterflies hand.

A gloom night looms, inside her sweet dark tresses,
No one thing survives the trippy nerved crevices,
No one knows what shadowed secrets, she suppresses.