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Lily Priest Jun 2020
The wrong, as always, was the right for us,
tainted trust stained with the blood
of our previous victims;
those whims of wondering what loving touch could feel like.
It burnt us, softened us to smoke,
that floated quiet out the door before dawn could break the news
and break the illusion.

We were loners,
Devoted to laying the stones of our own path,
Never held back tangles of commitment.
Without them we were untethered dreams
that broke into reality and made ourselves the monarchs
of our lowley, lonely kingdoms.

Look what those whims
have done to our crowns;
Rusty and bent they fall hapless
on our heads as we stand before
crowds of shadows cast by our egos.

There are no romances, no capes,
Princes or heroes in this land of the leftovers.
Only us
The wrong adorned as right
The deniers of the light of love
(That weakness of giving in and giving all).
How cold it all becomes when our dreams are big
but hearts are empty.
Acina Joy Aug 2019
I wish we could all be traditional heroes from way back then, who answered to people's beck and call. But now we've blurred the line between suffering and falsehood, and just as people can scoff at the silenced weak, the words of our present heroes can be as soothing as whispering to a festered wound.
Promise is not in words, but in actions.
if he were not
the president of a superpower
     that claims to be the beacon of democracy
we all could laugh more easily
     and openly

about the way he lies with almost every utterance
uses foul language, insults & invective
openly shares his racist views
lowers the level of accepted public speech
     like no U.S. president before
snuggles up to monarchs and dictators
and does not understand
     they play him for a fool

antiquated ideas of trickle-down economy
add nothing to his silly promises
of making his country great again
     (no real need, has never been small)

after two years in office it is clear
his retrograde policy
leads what once used to be
a democratic nation of great promise
    quite independent will
    and vital multicultural diversity
into a world of yesterday
    not to a better future

all it does is make him
     and the whole nation
the **** of wary global laughter
the kind usually given to the joker
in superman movies
I promise not to write about (U.S.) politics for at least a month ...8-(
Tatiana Dec 2018
Two monarchs cross paths
dancing around eachother.
With words so airy,
one should know to be wary
of what will be said next.

"How does your son fair?"
"Fairs as well as yours I presume."
"Yours always had a knack for flair."
"Yours always could wow a room."

Disguised insults spoken.
Each compliment flapped away with wings
that carry the monarch to their next test.
Where they'll see which flowers they like best.
To gather in support of their queens.

"You know what would be tragic?"
"Why do you continue to speak?"
"If a son were to fall to magic,
before his heart could take a beat."

The two monarchs parted ways.
Promises rolling off their tongues
as sweet as the nectar they drank.
But were designed to attack the other's rank.
Their success depends on the other's defeat.

Conversation stalls as the monarchs fly home.
On wings decorated so finely.
Each of their thoughts seem to turn towards their sons
Just caterpillars before their transformations.
Weaving their chrysalis with determination.

Though they're far apart
the monarchs speak the same words

"I fear for you, my son, in this great world,
Our reign can never last for long.
But I wish for you to have your chance
To encapture the world in a trance
With a grace bestowed upon your wings
I wish for you to make others sing.
For I've seen the tragedy of the other king
Just before transformation
I saw a caterpillar die in its chrysalis."

"I saw a caterpillar die in its chrysalis,"

"I saw a caterpillar die..."

"My son, that has made all the difference."
© Tatiana
My healing began
Six months into my recovery
When I tattooed a monarch on my arm
And tried to ignore the irony
That what I had chosen to protect myself
Was something so laughably fragile
But what people don't understand
Is that monarchs  are migrational
They may only live six months
But they travel over 3,000 miles
All the way from Canada to Mexico
And back again
They see more in those six months of life
Then most humans do in a lifetime
They live

So maybe my butterfly
Wasn't about protection at all
Maybe it was just my decision to live.
Liam C Calhoun Mar 2016
Dandelion dreams wisped from
The lips of summers past,
Lips tasted
And gilded became the cage,
So to, ushered,
My sense of belonging.
I tried to move on,
An couldn’t
And she knew it;
She knew that I couldn’t
The moment –
I’d fallen upon her lap
As she grabbed one more
Dandelion
And took one more breath
And blew the dead petals
Whilst making the wind somehow
Dance, and I,
The fool once more –
In love and unable to flee.
She asked me to "stay in her bowl," and I did; I'm still there and I'm a-o-k with that.

— The End —