Waves
swing your wings
in the rhymes
of a longing song.

Water’s mirror
splashes you with
silvery kisses
when your wings
become a vessel 
in the wind.

My ardent faith in you leading me to your divine pond where I will flap my tiny hands and swim with you to the other shore.

streak of pleasure rose
as the swimming lesson grows -
swan and little boy

The black swan smoldering in deep shade
vanishes in the sunset pond
sticking the discovery beauty spot
on the face of the moon!

This wasn't what he'd expected, since a wee little one,
       contorting the edges of fallen wood made thin.
What was rectangle became a triangle,
           what was just plain became more.

No fingers were used, a mind is a wonderous thing,
                                 Never wasted on this little one.
    
Creation, Imagination, as parchment clean crisp,
contorted to conception. But when it went wrong
            it rained snow flakes of ruptured imaginings,

Jagged and torn, papercutting those close.

Tears fell from his eyes as sorrow for skin bleed
not deep, but any more would have been a torment.

A thousand papercuts from a moment of
            frustration could turn paper crimson.

From that interim, knowing the power paper
had, be it words shapes, meaning.
       Learning that contours have potential and
wording on it was a powerful influence on others.

So began his journey as origami butterflies
             fluttering around him, calmness followed.
            Here child, as he handed a swan, and it swam
upon the innocence of there hand, and he walked onward.

I dreamt a dream of moonlight,
glittering and pale
A girl used to dance under the sun,
as her heart faded
she ran towards the moon
brushed her fingertips in the stardust.

I hear soft hands clap,
as voices sing a haunting melody
I think back to a girl with light footsteps,
a golden persona on stage,
a smile after.

I wonder if she was consumed
by greed,
as the nights grew longer,
if she ever found the sun again.
Perhaps she found it in the stardust,
brushed off her fingertips.

A thousand deaths later,
a black swan emerged from the snow
feathers coated in a soft tinkling melody.
A cold night
waited for the sun to come again.

Ink coated her fingertips,
as I dream of the dawn,
the moon finding the sun one last time
together in the sky
for a moment.

I break everything I touch
Whether I like it or not
The pain is a bit much

I steal hearts like a siren
and leave them out to dry
Men flock to me like pigeons
Yet I don't understand why

My features are average and I'm a grade-A *****
I don't offer apologies for broken hearts, not even a stitch

I have infinite suitors yet I want none of them
I want my Swan, he's my gem

******, the word is a sadistic place
The one man I want, would just laugh in my face

He was, he is, and ever will be
The most famous bard; by th’ name of Will; he
A question posed that’s baffled generations
“To be, or not to be...”; by these one very very words alone
reserved himself he the star-studded throne
Among th’ infinite constellations
From whence he came, and whither he did go:
For ‘ndeed ‘tis was for him too much ado;
Too much alike to those one star-crossed lovers
He was unhappy in his life; but once it’s over
Was - he did arise; not from his grave,
But to eternity to thrive
Among th’ eternal things, fair and sublime
With not even the palest peer,
Or the worthy rival to challenge his position
Where he still stands as if the exhibition’s
Greatest monument; which, well, he is
That shines so bright so no one could him miss