You may have sounded so tired.
But to me you sounded so sweet.
Your voice fading away as you drift off to sleep.
Your quiet mind so quietly speaks.
A whisper i can’t hear but yet you still breathe.
Time is still going as deeper you drift.
I am still awake and suddenly your missed.
Beautifully you sleep as touching is your kiss.
So loving and warm another thing I miss.
I won’t wake you up but only stare for a while.
As happy I am if only you can see me smile.
I turn around as I say goodnight.
To try to sleep with you on this tiring night.
every nook is full.
Bouquets of stars
flower over the Moon!
Lo, unleashing every
bit of the inky night
the sleeping beauty
to wake soon!
Go to the nth degree
when everything is full
look for somewhere new!
It's a full circle, full-blown
but a ceaseless moving world
to one more new angle!
My soul is cast
Chained to the one flower
that will ne'er wither
As I am in the world
Awaiting to stir at the touch
of cold glass lips
Influenced by the tale of Sleeping Beauty
Be back soon!
The king and queen cried
“Bless us! We cannot conceive!”
And “blessed” they were.
Their heir, a miracle, a vision of royalties.
And so a celebration was in order
(as is most pertinent in events such as princess births)
to adorn the little lamb with gifts.
Whether the blame lies here or there
our princess lamb heir stands the most to suffer
in cases such as forgotten friends.
Or unforgetful vengeance--
So spite screeched an everlasting “CURSE THEE TO DEATH ON THE ***** OF A SPINDLE!”
And with a turn of its heels shock
The well-intentioned sprite attempts to soften the wolf’s blow on our little lamb heir--
Only a nap--
only it would seem such in the conjecture of events.
Now no longer is she princess baby heir then does a spindle come alive
X winters later!
(convenient, one might say--in all the land one’s but burned, temptingly locked away in the curious tower)
Insert fainting sounds.
Insert crowded gasps.
Insert “told you so!”
And the sheep follow our little lamb’s sleep.
One hundred year sleep.
Hair follicles sprout a slimy green, and not-so-royal fungi flourishes--
brash brambles tuck in the herd as if to say
Don’t let the mites bite!”
But not our little lamb.
Reassuringly beautiful princess lamb heir keeps
like red wine.
She is only to be drank up from the
a proper lamb.
Whose worries consist of much different things than our lamb heir--
but for another ‘lore.
Our Prince Lamb dips, sips,
lips on lips
and she is awake!
Beautiful princess lamb knows exactly what to make
of all this?
The sheep herd rises,
and their “joyous” bleating reverberate
cold castle walls and break down the thorny cover.
And they lived happily
(and most originally)
as sheep tend to do.
No matter how much times
I wish upon that star
It won’t change the fact that you’re still his puppet
Which is unfortunate because I want to see who you really are
I’ll try to be brave
Brave like a little tailor
But no matter how much I help out
It’s because of the lies, that I’ll always fail her
I’d play you a special song, in a strange little town
And all of the townsfolk would gather round
And you’d think their joy would make me happy
But no matter how hard I look there’s just one face that can’t be found
I’d flee from that town; I can’t swim across the river
But don’t worry the fox will give me a ride
But still I’m afraid I won’t make it
Because the feelings are eating me up inside
And just like prince charming
I’ll wake you with a kiss
I just want you to be happy
Because I hate seeing you like this...
Gold crown of Olympus, hair crown and
Skin gown. First we throw our bodies at
One another. Heaping piles of human soup.
Bold maneuvers, hands and mouths and
Boy meets girl lying down, on top, intertwined.
Skittish moves on a tryst. Wet fingers of freshly
Tendered infinite decibel pleasure screams.
Streamers above a long rooting movement.
Overture of Aphrodite. Sparkling, glitter woman,
Legs pressed tightly to the chest,
Loose appendages intertwined. Intersticed dactyls
In rapture, soothing. Bodies build to one heart's beat.
Two muses fused together. If I wasn't afraid I'd wake you up
I'd slip on my shoes and make a tropical fruit fondue.
Ice cream lover's delight. Opus to brown sugar.
To swimming again, a pursed lurking of lips
In the academy of the pastoral commonwealth.
We eat at our stations of the sublime. Today which was
A day of discord- you nursed me back to the land of the living.
As we earn our pageantry to take
Stride on this Earth, and string a
Great bow of eager success among all of us,
You, me, them. While I continue to
Gaze at you. If not dinner, perhaps a
Cup of tea instead.
— The End —