There was a rose garden
Vibrant and full of life
The prince poured
His love into the roses
Every night.
But the roses kept
Pricking his fingers.
His blood dripped
Onto the floor
They lapped it up
Growing more and more
Till the prince ran dry
With no more blood to spill
He left the roses
To die on their hill.
So full of fright they cried
Every night till sunrise
And from their grief
A child was born
Twisted and rotten
A head full of thorns.
They nursed the wretched child
With the blood of the prince
That was coursing inside.
She ****** and ******
till the roses turned white
as the moon hanging high in the sky.
The roses withered as the last drop
of blood left their veins.
And down from hill the child did climb
Searching for a reason
for all the pain inside.

The Prince, my Prince

Everyday you sought out an Atlas
And everyday he carried the eternal’s weight
If you call listening, carrying

1 of 12, 12 labours
Head to the ground, body stripped in apology
So that others may look to the stars

A debt owed, now a debt paid
A happy debt  

The Greek remembers with stories
The Roman remembers with dates
People dismiss him with smile and thanks
I don’t, I remember

Your heart, in stone, cracked
A kiss lasting a lifetime, a kiss for two

The Prince, my Prince

The Swallow, my Swallow

‘Will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger?’
‘Will you not stay with me one night longer?’
‘Will you not stay with me one night longer?’

Yes
‘Do as I command you’


And so everyday he took the place of Prometheus
Giving fire to humans
As giving light to those lost in this dark, dark world

Eurydice, Eurydice, my dear Eurydice, you went too soon
I sing this song, in hopes that the Gods look favorably on me  
Wish granted, time short, rain is all I see  

Time for a kiss, not kisses
Sweet, short, sorrowful

The Swallow, my Swallow

dear prince, your eyes seem light as the night
when heavy, new, and moonless
pray tell, where has luna strayed this time?
i know the truth, but to know a soul
and to be shown are separate things

A lady from Rentz thought it neat
Hoping in London the prince to meet
He passed her that day
Looking the other way
She'll have to go back to Rentz and repeat

A woman arrived early from Minsk
Hoping to get a nod from the prince
His procession went by
She never caught his eye
Now her fondness for him is past tense

My Petit Prince is dead
Long live my Petit Prince.
There will be no funeral procession
No flowers no crown
No guest list no readings
No musical selections no choir
When my new Petit Prince takes over
As his perfect twin's Nemesis
Always fit and ready cavalier
Born to rise from his ashes
A brave yet inconstant heir
Who kept his secret horses to himself.
His forever surviving princess is a mix of joyful mermaid
And melancolic grasshopper
Who likes to dive and swim
Into words and phrases
And elaborate new grammar constructions