As Atlas attempted to seize the heavens
he learned to bare the weight of the world.
Such is the cruel fate
of love to scorn turned.

And what of all the legends of old,
of hero's tales from bronze to gold.
Why instead of stone statues
are cement hearts held
in every man's chest
while we lay old stories to rest?

The songs of sirens
swapped for plastic promises,
Heads of hydras
exchanged for two faced friends
as our magic morphs to cheap tricks,
all that managed to remain
Is an Achilles heel for sincerity

So when two souls like worlds collide
and create a place of bliss,
too often one bares the weight
of both worlds, with the burden
of unrelenting loss.

There once was a young girl
Who loved to bake.
She was a dreamer
And a believer.
But she was the daughter of a noble
And became engaged to a foolish king.
And then, she met him.
Mysterious
Surprising
Dashing
Handsome
The joker from lands far off.
With a knack for magic
And baker girls.
They fell into a forbidden love.
Just as they were to run away together
He was killed.
It was quick
Fast
Clean
And right in front of her.
She fell into a state of rage and unfeeling.
Her first order upon becoming queen
Was to execute the killer.
“Off with his head.”
And she became
The
Queen
Of
Hearts.
A monster.
A destroyer.
A villian.

Not all fairy tales
Have happy endings.

A life can be told from different angles
A different moral every time
A fresh perspective from greater distance
Puts the truth to familiar lies

I always carry with me some rain in the pocket of my pants

To irrigate the yellow meadows of the paths I travel in this world
When the nights are not clear at daybreak
And its silence almost deafens me
I take a little rain out of my pocket
And your melody is my only company

Occasionally when I wear my jeans with fake pockets
I carry rain in the pocket of my t-shirt
A small pocket in the lapel
Just for precaution
Because maybe today is the day when the skies will claim you back

There were times when I wanted my skin to tell the happy stories of my childhood, and of my present fresh youth
Instead, it told tales of strenuous anguish

But the rain cleared these tales
At least most of them
Now my skin says nothing and my voice chooses what to share

When the days are terribly hot but dark
And suddenly breathing becomes the most difficult task of the day,
I ask her to rain torrentially

And when I'm home alone reading a book near that small window in my room
She remembers to keep me company,
She remembers that at two o'clock in the afternoon, a book and I tune in
and she serenades to me

Gone
Away
You are lost
It's my own fault
The sleight of my hand
Tipped you over the edge
Your destiny unfulfilled
Oblivion calling to you
Surely this way you will never burn