They didn't write about this in the fairytales of my childhood
They never told me love could fade away
That it is hard to find, but easy to lose

They never gave me forewarning that my heart could be broken by my prince
Or that I could be the breaker of his
Who knew we were given such power, such responsibility?

They never told me there were other princesses roaming in his mind
They never told me of other princes who could catch my eye
Who knew of such dishonesty, such infidelity?

Who knew love was something so fragile?
As if it were porcelain it slips through your fingers so fast
To be shattered like the illusion of the fairytale love story in your mind
When you see the truth a ******* leaves behind

Poetry, the power to conceive an experienced emotions,
letting it loose in freedom, spoken tongue and fluttering
eyes, reliving an foundation to move forward. Knowing
full well, that death is definite. While I’ll speak as others
read. I do wonder what freedom is made from. Whether
it’s in this life or the next. Until the end of time, I’ll continue
in poetry and so far, it’s the best form comfort outside the
lovers arms of safety.

My dear prince,
take me far away
from these murky creeks
of these aimless heads
keeping me low, caged within

My king, the future that will sit on throne
with a crown of roses that colors bleed
How is it you can take the worries away?
Off guard; To you, and for you— I fall
With a snap of your veiny fingers
you trace the patterns of my arms
Passing on warmth
from the pure glow of your heart
And as you have said:
"Falling may be scary
but landing is not"

My wise thoughtful fellow,
you may seem so far away
from these lands
Or have I just kept my head up way too high?
Into the clouds, above the waters and blues
Still, nothing can compare
to the hues in your eyes

Is it taking too long of a distance
for our ship to sail to be called soon?
Must I chase away my dreams
Farewell— of being with you?
But you always kept me at bay,
and my heart you have slain

You are my knight,
protecting me from the darkness
seeping in through at night
My prince who let me taste
the breezing colors of the seasons
by his trusty platinum steed

And my king, you reign
You remain
ruling the castles and valleys
of my heart so deep
In your soulful eyes,
I have found my sweet serenity,
my dream filled sleep,
with you breathing next to me

Tonight and for ever afters
I do hope we will seal it with a kiss

My dear prince,
In the cloak of velvets and gold
Not only you have swept me away
You have me swooned all over
Onto the oceans and in so deep
Over the mountains and skies blue seep
Now that I have travelled far to your land
Give me the permission for your heart
I am asking for your hand, risking it all
Melting, in your arms I fall
You're the only one who can do it,
Lay a sword to my heart; you've slain
Oh my blood rose, can I get close?
Veins of blue, your sharp luring thorns
Every piece of you, I'm ready for it all

As for my only issue with poetry,
it encourages people to join the
next generation of romantics. Loving the beauty of love and all those sighs.
Never
to
experience
love
with
their toiling hands, rubbing the poetic flesh
of their lover. During the exchanges of poetry.
(knowledge variable)

I tried my luck  
with catching frogs,
and must have found my prince.

He picked me up
when I was down,
and hasn’t dropped me since.

Can i still believe in a happy ending story?
That someday my prince will come
And save me from a cruel reality
Altough i'm not pretty
Also don't have money

Can i still believe in fairytale?
That someday my wish come true
After all the mess i have
i will have my own castle
With my beloved inside

Freedom a burden with load, pressing on shoulders,
poetry cannot tame or teach passion in wild tones. To
gain oneself, to lose another. Mystical wisdom that on
purpose collides with reality, producing illumination.
Poppy seeds and sunflowers. Fireflies dance with the
moon’s silver. Evading the inner self, spilling forward.
Profound elevation, risking a profound hurt. Colours
in romance, music to the neo. Leaving behind memories
of joy and forgetting all-else, on the account it never
to exist again.  
(knowledge variable)

Born into life, without questions, born to a period not knowing what it is, life laid out. Stirred and mixed with stronger overtones of melancholy. Ambition from mundane, a desire to fit in, to be noticed. Born smiling. Twinge.

There’s fear and loathing,
influence measured, as much of success.
Blink and you’ll see the same,
for when open a pair of eyes up. Smile and it will be reflected. Cry, it won’t.

Undefined vanity.

Land of freedom.

Breathless soaking, mist on glass. Violet haze. Fashion as veils. Trends of distractions. Attention, a threatening murmur. Contemplation of reckless emotions. Upturning awareness. Affection wanted. Castle. Inviting gentle poetry from poets that lived hard lives.

******* to one's inner-self. Spades.
How to make redemption on being born? Making an amends,
born into life, opening fire, slightly jaded, it’s not what anyone thought it is.
Charming like gold. Bleak inside. Placing random value. Moonlit dreams. Rustling silk wishes, isolation presence, always alone, gleaming out, as to say that creation is more than anyone could possibly bear. Weighing one down.
The fullness of decaying hope, producing perfume to poems.
Crossing over the duration of one’s natural life. Attempting to pardon the bitterness inside. Though it clings to my soul with dear life, yawning it causes, laying to normal daily
living,
freightful
torrent
fragile
in
common
ways.
Threading malady. Originality always on cue to be tempting, at times to feed, an incredible lust. Everything becomes vivid and heightened, sounds louder, heat rose, perception becomes acute. Avoids eye contact in hope that one’s own inner-life is not noticed. People know the face, barely remember the name.
Innovation is in the aroma,
master of one.
Fate and destiny seems to want to marry.


Maybe it’s a shift of culture, viewing glass, a new dogma.
Noticing the afflictions of life, attaching not to limitations,
the clarity of mind can destroy much of the illusions that seem to float by,
where the youth seems to vanish,
regret builds.
Monotonous now. A fling. Poetry played over jazz.
Burning underneath desire, hanging over, like a bending flower head. A fear strong. Being unsure, questioning, pushing people away, an whole affair, an entire loss.
Collecting old memories of joyus particular moments.
Making attempts to hold and feel a content life, dripping into something, one expected or wanted. Just mercy now.
Voyage
Starvation
Servitude
Burning
Sun
Cold moon
Gathering
Around
A
Fallen
Star
Chanting
For
Romance
Like
The
Kind
Of
Romance
All
Those
Poets
Seem
To
Know
In
Intimate
Ways

Craving against to revolt against the life born into. Knowing at the back of one’s mind, one has
to revolt against the hesitation that one produces.
A manuscript to another tragedy. Expressions of fears, played out on stage. A grandeur melodramatic gestures. Saturating over earth. Cry more? Why for?
There's fortune in freedom. Effort is a must. Courage is trust with oneself. Horror inside. To do, it’s like its been tried before. A certain manner in one's own grace. Self-made beauty. Alluring. Everyone wanted to know, everyone wanted to, always pushed away.
Flashing eyes, widened and still,
mouth closed, clenching firsts. Cursing missed opportunities. Alone at home, safe and yet failing.
        Fascinated with Utopia. Calling out to poets.
        Quenching the fire.
         Asking for passion that flares and continue to progress.
Argue with self-worth.
Entangline with self doubt.
Staying mute.
Do i dare recite poetry to thee? Breaking out on impulse that keeps motivating.or just continue to loathe over unfulfilled wishes. Tomented to be locked in my own stillness.
For I’ve heard the garden of eden contained paradise.
Truth in beauty, it’s beauty because it holds truth.
(knowledge variable)