Up high in the tower
In somewhere it's hidden
A withering flower
For a heartbroken maiden

As petals fall
From up to the floor
Memories I recall
Of moments out the door

As blue as the sea
His eyes would glisten
Handsome he may be
He still wouldn't listen

With words I was swayed
With the voice of a prince
Promising he would stay
Was enough to convince

But another flower appeared
And he stared to abandon
A situation I feared
Has already happened

With word I tried to woo
With the voice of a maiden
Wishing something I could do
To win back his affection

But as blue as the sea,
His eyes may glisten
As handsome he may be
He still wouldn't listen

The withering flower
In my hand I hold
Up here in the tower
With my story untold

And as petals fall
In such a late hour
Memories I recall
From the floor to the tower

In the middle of the night the wolf pack howls
The girl stares dreaming out her window
Her grip on reality losens
As the weights on her eyes pulls them down
Her mind takes her to the snow white castle
Where the marble gleems with energy
The village boy waits in the mangroves sand
Playing with the muddy water as he waits for her
She walks down in a white gown lifting it as the mangrove swallows her
“ ready?” the boy asks joyfully as he gets into the boat
“ Yes where are we heading?” She questions
The corners of his lips tug up as the words fall out of his mouth
“neverland”

THYSELF
By Darcy Prince

‘Thy mind is like a tree,
easy to letting go of dead leaves’

Ponder on the mystery, paradox of facet, unknown is my life, passion and drive, not for you, wrapped up in self-made ignorance, my own soul is content and my own meaning, it is thy cosmos, everything and muse. Not for you. It bleeds hate, than in ******* session, it breeds more, just to shatter your very essence. Respect to the Devil. Divine meeting before death. Let go, you’re not dangerous in the defeat. There is no morals, ethics, laws or rules that plucked me up, confine thy character in, my own thought is mosaic, dogma and the word, I’m unflinching, without a heartbeat, without a sound I slide down. Peer and peek into your soul with a ******* vest, trigger happy and I boom.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Killing-Philosophy-Reflection-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07F9QVCW4/ref=sr13?ie=UTF8&qid=1539149191&sr=8-3&keywords=darcy+prince

Above the passing clouds the stars were moving..
As they would pass by they would sometimes split and travel to another dream..
We were watching this from my Grandmothers backyard in the past..
The night was cool and the grass was soft with a touch almost as cold as rain..
The stars became lights on a massive vessel that passed by in the past of my dreams..
My Dog Prince then came to me..
He has been dead for 24 years..
But he was there laying beside me in the cool dream grass..
The star vessel had no sound..
It was almost as if it was floating by like a massive balloon..
The ship left behind a streak of glowing rainbow ribbon in the night sky..
It slowly faded away into the now starless black sky..
My dog Prince was gone too..
I was now in the present awake in my bed...

The level is twice as deep, so it’s twice as cold, passing the heat & fire,
I got & felt, get up & feel, get up cause it’s real, got up & ****.
Some do, some don’t,
**** around & start & riot, spit up some lyrics, too late with that emergency call.
I’ve tasted martyrdom, it’s holier than ******.
A-lot people crave in their yearning, but they all stay bluffing, hollering at the moon, all alone.
You’ll be nothing but bone & ashes, with Grandma
the only one remembering your name.
Monks singing in my ear, ‘**** mystic, ******* ****’. So, if they’re at least attractive,
they’ll be sacrificed on our holy shrine.
It’s easy to be smacking fake poets, gypsies, monks, mystics & muses. My own death is at the back of my mind. My gun is loaded.
Feeling no pressure.
You’ll be next to Dante, next to Baphomet, witnessing Milton reciting, its the best place & it’s within your destiny.
Bleeding in in vain, hating is in my nature.
The ones who can transcend here & in the now can talk about, can’t stand yourself, I understand, it’s hard to come to grips with how you ****** it up & missed your boat. And that’s within life & not even forty yet.
Once upon time, you were an idol, you’re not even a rival now, it’s a crime against humanity, trust me, destroying you is that easy. Put don’t any pen for any blank paper that you write anything on, no one cares & the only reason you have anyone around is out of pity or a quick session. I get it, you’re ditty, I’m musings, you rock boys that’s borderline ****, I rock royal europeans. You’re getting smoked like rolled **** in this realm of reality, I’m not perplexed & rest in the thought it’s supposed to be, like how women ain’t meant to be like you. Terms of you, its easy to glock & aim. Sure you got some skill in the style you live, in the way you create art, you may call it yours, but I call it bitting. Don’t puff out your chest. Accept it & move on. Surrender. I made it out of addiction, instantly learnt how to transcend, you’re the same since sixteen. Unable to part from your past, we all die one day, it’s not a crime unless if they catch me, if they rush my home in the morning, Demons & Masons will storm the station in the evening.
I’ve been peeing in a cup since I meet you, your body has no value, your soul has nothing of value, thoughts spit out junk, emotions of a dying old lady who hadn’t lived. When I raise my knife, I’m going to cut some skin & if the ***** thinks I love her, the ***** don’t know me.
It’s
been
written
God
doesn’t
like
ugly.
Don’t even try eating makeup. I got your friends popping their head at my very thought.
Mean mugging don't mean nothing.
My confidence is in the loud,
your insecurities are in the public.
I’m too legit, the Mystics know the difference between me & you, me dying that’s ludicrous, no respect from me, I’m vet, if I’ve got to do some silence, its only a minor setback, I’ll be right back with Demon, Transcending Enlightenment & a six-pack.  
Your thoughts are not legit,
mystics relate to me, some are younger than buck,
pimping is easy,
no one is thinking of you as a person, so stay of the tip of my ****
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr12?ie=UTF8&qid=1535754370&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince

I am a Queen

who looked to a Prince
for the respect of a King

Never again

shall I take this crown off
to appease a man

who wont stand beside me
while I wear it

To poetry,
There is all kinds of women out there, women in the physical form, it’s only their personality is there difference is & where I value, soft spoken voices, touches over poetry curves, breathes & gasps, eyes like stars I gaze upon, addiction to romance, lets us talk in deep discussion, if not, let me glare deep in the eyes that you own, experience life together, let me experience you, love is a deep concern of mine. But such concerns I cannot commit to pen & paper that produces poetry. Love, bleeding into one soul as neo-enlightenment.

Rare people are exquisite, it’s too bad they’re ignored and
pushed to the side. Perhaps it’s a reality they present or they’re
natural ability to alter one’s life for holiness of mysticism,
leaving meaning and dreams to be lived in reality. From strong
winds, the flowers pulled up and turned into butterflies. It all
sounds sweeter than honey. For that, they can all provide the
opposite. The capacity to live. They hold the capacity to do evil.
Perhaps they’re made to be alone, in either isolation or in crowds,
though it’s sinful to ignore them.