He made an expression he did not feel
And pretended he had no gashes to heal
For one of the three had to be sane
And pretend to not feel pain

He displayed emotions he did not know
He did not subject and went with the wind’s blow
He had plentiful to say
But he kept his judgments gray

The slyest are the most broken
The silent are the well spoken
He recognized it all too well
And so, his ego could not swell

The sun had set long ago
And the melancholy moon was the only glow
The only nimble of hope
The only entity keeping them on a durable rope

He was the only contestant left in fate’s game
And was the set aim
He had his cards lay out
Though even the wisest had their doubts

Would he live?
Would he thrive?
Or would he drive himself mad?
And give up faking to be not glad

They say you cannot change the past
Though he knew he would not last
If he were to dwell in his secrets long
He just needed to hear a song

The lullaby of a songbird would bring
The justice of a king
And the game of fate
Would soon be set straight

For it is the story we have all heard but never learnt
The one where friendly rivalry burnt
Two pits of gold
One bad, one bold

A path lit leads the way
Choose wrong and your loved ones shall pay
So choose your fate’s date
Tick tock, it’s getting late

pouring rain
falling down
your cheeks

cleaning up
every bit
of sadness
left
in your
fragil heart

But how
can you
truly
love me
when you
don't even
love
yourself

The night is here.
But in some way,
We are not.
It's almost as if sometimes,
Just sometimes,
We begin to feel as though maybe,
We aren't viewing the same stars,
That there are an infinite number to choose from.

And though thy are in thought,
You still avoid the thoughts,
Of how small you are in this vast universe,
And that maybe you and I,
Are not seeing the same stars.
That perspective is all and everything.
That no,
That beautiful blue star you see so brightly,
Among the millions of others,
Only seems to catch my eye for a moment.
A fleeting glimpse of what would be,
Could be,
Can be,
Won't be.

Yet still dreamers dream,
Thinkers think,
And sleepers sleep.
Because all in all,
Not everything will have some deeper meaning,
Some great devotion,
Some unknown message
That is screaming itself from the rooftops and the mountains.
That maybe a poem is just that,
A string of words with seemingly poetic rhythm.

So as time continues moving,
And 4D creatures in a 3D world continue breathing,
May we all continue counting stars that are in the past,
And continue breathing the air that's been with us for centuries,
And continue writing seemingly meaningful poetry,
With strange endings.

Yes it's true
Heroes need saving too
They get beat black and blue
All to save damsels like you

When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.