Amidst the politicians,
decisions on propositions
positioned to requisition
this very nation's fate,
only leads to derelictions,
and weaknesses in convictions,
unending belligerences,
and finally, blind hate.
Banditos jumping fences,
to make it to better living...
this freedom is an incentive,
not a gift, so why wait?
People dying overseas,
Pollution and disease,
Brings the planet to its knees
And steak to your dinner plate
They think it's great!
they use the greed to cultivate the hate.
They squeeze upon the clamps
designed to encapsulate our fates
and in their avarice they find
the keys of heaven dissipate
between their fingers like the time
it took to make a bank so great,
but still they take, and they don't mind,
when you die sooner, now, or late,
cause they charge you for the diapers,
dinners, tax all that you've made,
Then they charge you for the service,
while they're waited on by maids,
but, yeah, okay, make your choice,
Between the men who make you slaves
And cast your vote, between two evils
Of slightly different shades.

Please abstain from the abuse of alliteration, *******.

I will not stand for this silly slaughter of semantics.

Rules are recorded to retain responsible reactions to ridicule,

and it's infinitely irritating to innocent intellects.

Alliteration always annoys any and all astute attendees.

books should be blessed by benevolent bars

of velvet, virginal, valiant variation.

Not repugnant, retched, reconstituted repetition.

Always avoid any attempt at alliteration.

Many miles east,
in the sand's rise and swell,
where the fire lived on earth,
and no one was there to tell,
a change did occur,
where no water could prevail:

In the heat, in the desert,
whose description matches hell,
the mountain bore witness
as a lone snowflake fell.

The change in her was drastic;
it happened almost instantly,
and standing there resplendent,
my wife smiled at me.
There were tears in her eyes,
and in mine, happily.
Not a force in this world
could have stopped us ******
from the embrace that quickly followed,
barely loose enough to breathe.
The contact was too short,
by a lifetime, or three,
before she started to explain
the curse on her family.

"Long ago, in the world,
there once lived an entity
who was friend to none:
All were his enemy.
My father's father's father,
and many fathers before he,
took upon himself the task
of slaying this ancient beast.
Using magic as a weapon,
my ancestors did believe
that they could clear away the desert,
and live amongst the trees.
The plan was much in favor,
and my people did agree
to use force to move a mountain,
but they paid the price for greed.
As the world was torn apart,
the entity then decreed
that the men who made this choice
would buy all that they need
with the source of all their joy:
With the blood of their own seed."

As she spoke to me,
sword in hand, I heard the ring:
The ring of truth in her words,
she continued enlightening.

"...But as it is with magic,
enactments are shared things,
and the men nor the mountain
knew the trouble this would bring.
When the kingdom needed rulers,
be they prince or queen or king,
a contest would begin,
from which rose or thorn would spring.
The winners lived to rule.
Losers served the entity.
The mountain would shade the forest,
or it would fly upon the wings
of the fire in the desert,
making ashes of the leaves
until the next generation
grew up to be offerings.
But as I said before,
magic is shared between.
Something must be traded
for the spell to be complete.
When the curse took effect,
and the mountain spoke to me,
I traded who I was,
to give you what you need.
I kept your heart in secret,
and saved you from The Queen,
who was agent of the mountain,
as we both have by now seen.
Had you not pierced my heart,
and then hers in search of me,
the sword that trims the rosebush
would have never been:
I would have lived, and would have died,
as a wretched, rotting thing.
...It was a gamble I accepted
in the faith you would be king.
Now with Thorn of Rose to guide,
and me to be your queen,
we have paid the price in pain
enough for joy to reign supreme.
Now bring THAT thorn, Mr. Prince,
and I will show you what I mean..."

She pulled me down onto the bed,
to celebrate our victory.

Once again, the mirror shrank,
and once again, the mirror grew.
I deciphered what I saw
as room, in room, in room.

I was looking at myself,
looking at myself in view,
as I looked into the mirror.
The infinite only grew.
Yet, I saw there repeated,
frozen drops of dew
that rearranged into the face
of the only love I knew.

Then, I thought in haste,
reviewing every clue.
Every hurt upon this monster,
every word that I had used,
had bitten to the bone,
while I had wondered why, amused.
I had goaded Rumpelstiltskin
Just to see what he would do,
and I had wounded my dear love:
My worded thorns had run her through.
I was aching to the core,
and I must have looked confused,
for the wretched face before me
had a sentence left, or two:

"I can see from your tears,
and the quakes within your might,
that you've seen through your fears,
and you view me in new light.
It pains me to see
how against yourself you fight,
but in your heart and in your mind,
you know that you are right,
so pay us both the favor,
and end this curse's blight."

I did the only thing I could,
and said, "You are Snow White."

I threw the weapon to the floor;
the world was once again the same.
"What sort of vile trick is this?
What a sick and twisted game!
Are you amused at my discomfort?
Does it quench your boredom's flame?"
I had more to say to him,
but despair had wracked my frame.
How could my winter be this death?
Such a fate for one so tame...
And the way that I had spoken!
My heart was filled with shame.
"If this is some deception,
I'll send you back from whence you came,
with your rumpled, stilted, skin,
left in the field for crow to claim!"

Rumpelstiltskin let me finish.
My tirade and my disdain
had taken toll upon the beast,
whose face showed only pain.

"Please, my prince," he said.
"You need only say my name,
and if you know it to be true,
then my form I will regain.
Use the mirror that I made
from the love that you contain,
and you will see I do not lie.
The truth will be made plain."

I did not come this far,
just to argue, doubt, and stall.
I placed the mirror on the mantle,
and its power I did call.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
where lies the fairest of them all?
Raven hair, and softest lips,
adorn the face I long to kiss.
Gentle mind, and gentle touch,
gentle heart, and beauty such,
that to live without its grace,
is to beg for death's embrace.
Heart in hand," I glanced at sword,
"And tears upon my face,
I beg this mercy of you, mirror,
Where is my wife? Show me the place!"

He must have seen my face,
and smelled the adrenaline
as I searched for my blade,
thoughts of anger turned to him.

He reached into the air,
In attempt to catch the wind,
And in his hand appeared my heart.
The monster held me at his whim.

"I am bound by rule,
as was The Queen, by this curse.
I can only hint
at the nature of its worst.
I have played my part well,
if I may say so first.
The rules of curse dictate
it is time to reimburse.
...With that being stated,
I'm sorry if this hurts..."

Frozen in my place
by the touch he did impart,
I was once again at mercy
of the mystery of art.
Rumpelstiltskin, in control,
took my sword, and pierced my heart.
I saw it melt into the blade,
as it became the vital part.
I once again could move,
I realized, with a start.

"Here now, we have an edge,"
he said, "that knows a thing or two
about the rose, and the thorn,
and the cold and fire, too.
It has pierced the hearts of three,
first me, then queen, then you.
This sword knows more
of this kingdom than you do.
When it's placed within your palm,
you will only see the truth.
Keep it with you always.
May your rule be long and smooth."

I hesitated, full of fear,
that this act had been a ruse,
and Rumpelstiltskin had been waiting
for this very moment's cue
to strike me down with magicked blade,
if his appearance was a clue.
...But then again, I recalled,
how my men had been subdued,
and in my horror, at their states,
I might have stricken them down, too.
This ugly vision lended aid,
and nothing more that came undue.

I was shocked and dismayed
and overjoyed at what ensued:
When I gripped the Thorn of Rose,
every lie I ever knew
was blown away, in single gust:
So much smoke through open flue.
Rumpelstiltskin had gone,
and a blizzard filled the room.

"Mr. Prince, I heard the word
of your return back to the town."
Ever-present saliva
pattered to the ground.
"It's been almost a week
since your travel laid you down.
In that time, I have listened,
I have spread my ears around.
I hear news The Queen is dead;
do I misinterpret sound?
Are the subjects not in mourning?
Does the dirge's drum not pound?
Though the serfs hated queen,
they know that new power abounds,
for every rose that dies,
another rises from the ground."

I sat up in my bed
to face the demon at my door.
"I know well my royal duties,
so what business is that of yours?
Come you to rub it in my face,
you took my heart and so much more?
Does it bring you so much joy
that it's myself I do abhor?
I've lost the only thing
that in this world I do adore.
Unless you come to help,
leave me be, I do implore."

"Quite the opposite, in fact,"
Said the fiend, with a grin.
"I've all the interest in the kingdom
in helping you, my friend.
On your back, you carry burden:
All the roses of your kin,
of your army, of your people,
let its weight not drop your chin,
lest the thorns of leading many
bleed you out 'fore you begin.
Many are the reasons
on which you must depend,
least of all, that sword you wield,
has a nature that is twinned.
You can save or you can slay
the lives of many men.
Do you preserve, or take away
the peace they believe in,
or let the fire have its way
and try for size The Queen's old skin?"

With the men I had at call,
the trip took seven days in all,
through sand and snowfall.

Alone, I don't recall
how much time it took to haul
my battered bones back to the walls
of my castle through the pall.

By the time I had arrived,
I was reduced to near a crawl,
my skin had suffered scald;
the salt of sweat had rubbed it raw.

Recovery in my chambers
gave me time to reflect
on the things that I had seen
in the cavern behind cleft.
Of eleven men departed,
all but three did death collect,
and with permafrost decaying,
I felt a noose around my neck.
Why should I be living
if her life I can't protect?
I lay empty in my bed,
cursing the prospect.
...And on the subject of curses,
why must this one interject,
and present itself as puzzle,
with The Queen as architect?
I wanted to believe
I had sufficient intellect
to untie these convolutions,
all these threads that intersect.
If my love was lost to magic
that The Queen could not deflect,
how am I to change the course
of events I can't affect?
I felt hopeless in my healing.
I felt wounded self-respect.
These were thoughts we grow in weakness,
but in strength we do reject.
…And so in fever and recovery,
I languished in my sweat,
with my guilt and insecurity
to burden retrospect.
When the sickness lessened grip,
and lost the will to infect,
Rumpelstiltskin showed his face,
to gloat, I did suspect.

He came into the place
with a plague of insect.

"Listen, little prince,
for this luck has guaranteed
that you suffer worse a fate
than those you accompany.
I will tell you this now,
to increase your misery:
Your precious wife is not here,
if that is what you seek,
but with your marriage,
and a ring,
the curse's circle is complete.
We suffer this, all of us,
be us king or be us queen.
As the oldest roses wilt,
we must test the newest green.
We must cull the sickly buds
to strengthen our sovereignty,
which is why you must die,
slowly and horribly.
Her love for you is weakness.
You have taken her from me.
You have sullied up the path
I had paved for progeny.
Now the curse will **** you both,
I its agent, happily."

As The Queen relished joy
in confessing her misdeeds,
the men became alert,
and regained identity.
They gathered up, left unnoticed
by the eyes of royalty,
‘till The Queen had ended speech,
then they sprang suddenly.
Small they were, and weak at best,
but even in infirmity,
the seven men were strong enough
to give my blade an opening.

There was no hesitation:
No fatal laxity.
I plunged my sword into the heart
of my kingdom's worst disease.
She died, spitting thorns,
never knowing amity.

I spent the day with the men,
and with much solemnity,
I buried the evil queen,
and one by one,
my company.

So a curse upon my men
had made them monsters be...
Simply being in my party
had condemned them for their deeds.
"Why did you hex them, witch,
and think to spare me?
It seems foolish in your place
to spare a helpless enemy.
You could have murdered me instead,
and spared me all this speech."

She replied after a laugh,
filled with sadistic glee:
"Oh, I wanted to include you,
on that we both agree,
for you and princess both
can challenge my royalty.
But it seems you have a ward
that I did not foresee;
the sins within your heart,
even small in their degree,
should have shown upon your skin,
like your men, accordingly."

The sins within my heart...
I'm no saint, and I could see
Rumpelstiltskin saved my life
when he took the heart from me.

Ashes fell, still,
amidst conspiracy.

At first she looked appalled,
then her features rearranged.
The face of my devoted
took an heir of the deranged.
As was seen in the reflection
of the armor's mirrored pane,
the queen stood before me:
The epitome of insane.

I looked toward the sky,
to see the stars were merely flame,
and the snow that fell was ash
inside the mountain without name.

"What is wrong, little prince?
Your features, they look worn!
...From a trek across the desert?
Is that why so forlorn?
So easily fatigued,
you wave at me that little thorn?
I hope you brought an army!
Go ahead, blow your horn,
or are you daft in your distress?
Do you solo face my scorn?"
The sword in my hand
shook in quakes, anger-born.
"You see the creatures there?
They will die before the morn,
but do you care for your own men?
Do you not even mourn?
Do you uphold your bargain?
Slay the beast as forsworn?"
As she spoke, her features shifted.
The seer was in her form!

"That is right, little prince:
I am the fire, AND the storm."

I remember when the world had more vivid colors than it does now.
When my mother was twice as tall as I was.
When kickball lasted until the streetlights came on
or until someone ran into the tree that we used as home plate
and no one could talk them out of going home.

Sometimes we would come home to sticky buns.

Warm bread and sticky glaze made for a maple-flavored mess,
spread across the face and hands of four children.
ALL dirt sticks to children who have just eaten sticky buns.

Dirt or not, I remember the way we looked forward to them.
I also remember the look on my mother's face
every time she made them, as if burdened by a weight
that children were not aware of.

Many years later, I know how they're made.
A simple recipe, made for children's taste:
pre-made biscuits (from the cans that explode)
cooked until golden, then drizzled with maple syrup
and left to bake for just a few-  more-       minutes.

The perfect blast of sugar for energy-wasting children.

Such a simple recipe was surely born in desperation.
In retrospect, I know that look upon my mother's face as pain:
once, in lieu of dinner, she poured syrup over biscuits.
To cook the only food we had.

Every time we called for sticky buns,
she was reminded of our poverty.

Yet still she obliged,
cooking up sticky buns for her kids,
who knew not what poverty meant,
yet were formed under its rule
with sticky hands and ***** faces.

Something That We're Not

It isn't with a bang,
a pop, a pow, or a whimper.
It's with a look.
It's with a word.
It's the result of someone's temper.

Over time, splendor fails
and the boiling *** simmers.
In the end we're left to wonder
if there's ever really a winner.

What was great,
was only great,
and all out history is not.

And all the hate,
was only hate,
and so we weigh what might be lost.

Yet we stay,
and try to make
what we are, something we're not.

And the days,
they grow long
with our intentions ill-begot.

Rise and make haste
to the display of human waste!


Stand amazed at the hate
that I deserve in my disgrace!


I have taken
           What is precious
                         And I have given it to waste.

I destroyed
           What is dear
                          In a fit of sightless rage.


This scrabbled page
             Is all I have
                            From our halcyon days.


I know for sure
              that forever
                             life will never be the same.




                                                                                             I am ashamed.

The misshapen palate
Of the creature made him crude,
But I listened to his case,
As he told me what he knew.

"Stop! I beg you, please!
Lower sword, and listen, you.
We are not as we appear,
I swear these words are true."
He displayed his empty hands,
on which extra digits grew.
"We awoke in this condition.
As you neared, we did ensue
to devise a plan to flee,
but the woman saw us through."

"**** them all," my lover interrupted,
"Lest they throw you in their stew.
The very nature of their foulness
Evidents their souls askew."
The smallish creatures looked surprised,
and my wife appeared amused.
"Need you more explanation?
Their appearance is the proof.
These nasty things deserve a death:
Cut them all in two!"

These kinds of words from my beloved
were a sight I'd never seen.
Had she lost all her compassion?
Was it disgust that made her mean?
I was surprised to find her here,
but now that shock had left the scene,
there seemed an oddness in her then:
The tiny difference found in dreams.

The stunted creature spoke,
and my wife vented spleen.

"We ask not much:
Take us out from here, we plead.
This mountain has been sown
with an evil kind of seed.
There are only seven here.
Take us with you and with speed,
or let us pass without protest.
We only wish to flee."

The armor on his chest
was polished fairly clean,
and I saw in its reflection
a vengeful face of greed:
Peering over my right shoulder,
was the face of The Queen.
I turned with such a haste,
I stirred the snow with startled scream.
An idea began to form,
but I spoke with slow degree.

"What say you, My Only one?
Why do you wish these lives undone,
when the only thing they want for,
is a chance to turn and run?
They threaten not, they lack the strength,
Yet you plead their ends to come?
Do you find them so revolting?
Is their sight so cumbersome?
I've never known you to be violent,
So readily quarrelsome!
Were you to be so stricken,
would you call for martyrdom?"

Once within the cavern,
Roughly hewn and carved,
I saw snow, falling lazy,
And overhead were stars.
They would glow and they would fade
and collide as if they sparred,
making show, and making play,
and then raining down in spark.
When my eyes tracked their way,
I saw a figure standing far.

Underneath the light's display,
it was my love they did bombard.

I ran to her at once,
under snow and starfall.
Though I roared with all my might,
she didn't seem to hear my call.
She faced an opening,
on this chamber's farthest wall,
with such a look upon her face,
as though a spell had her in thrall.
I followed her line of sight,
and froze at once at what I saw.
It was fear that held her rapt,
not magic, not at all.
There were creatures coming in,
and their features made me stall.

I freed my sword at once,
seeing malice in their make.
It seemed they had the skin
of frog, or pig, or snake.
They were sickly in their jaundice,
and a palsy made them shake.
Illness pallor in their tissue,
it was more than I could take.
Yet something in their outfit
pinned my vision with a stake:
The armor of my men
adorned these monsters, no mistake.
Had they killed the lot already,
and taken their breastplates?
How is it snow falls
with these Halflings in this place?
Why do they not attack?
What is that look upon that face?
Is that sadness mixed with terror?
I swallowed my distaste.

From behind me, I heard breath,
drawn in fitful pace.
At my back, my lady gripped,
seeking safety in embrace.
The dwarf before me spoke,
And my heart began to race.

The mountain loomed on the right,
as we reached our destination.
I was reminded of the sight
from the night of invocation
when my mind had taken flight,
and soared to this location.
It looked identical to the vision,
I write without hesitation.

So, in darkness,
and in foreign land,
we plotted our invasion.
Cleaning sand from our effects,
we readied for the occasion.
The air seemed to cool,
and build anticipation,
but of life, or of death?
The wind's exhortations
were a giant's dying breath:
Fitful in expectation
of whatever comes next,
forgiveness or damnation,
or an endless, empty depth,
lacking sense or explanation,
like this chasm filled with darkness,
awaiting our exploration.

Sword in hand, and men at ready,
we made our way inside.
Stomachs tightened, like our grips,
upon the hilts of leather tied.
We moved slowly, stabbing blindly,
at shadows where men could hide,
and found them empty, but for dust.
Uneasiness multiplied.
We advanced through the labyrinth
where the heat would not subside,
gliding silent, in the darkness
toward the smell of sulphide.
The glow of light, in a cavern,
stopped me in my stride.
I whispered for the men
to observe and to abide,
and discovered, to my horror,
there were none to hear my cry.
They were lost in the intestine
of this starving mountainside
with only fumbling hands and feet
to serve as sense's guide.
I sent a thought out to my men,
as best I could provide,
and pushed ahead into the mountain,
fearing this was suicide.

Again

They say it's cathartic
to be broken-hearted,
but now that I've started,
it's a shame:
a shame that it's new
every time I go through
this set of self-induced pains.

Cathartic? May be.
But really, to me,
I've indulged in pointless refrain.
Over again,
I let it win.
Oh, wash me in tormented rain.

The tortured artist!
That's how this started:
pen-strokes and brushes, the same!

Yet suffer I do,
but only for you:
the next to start me again.

Full Circle

Always stuck in the middle,
in the middle, 'till it's done.
Don't swing hard, don't swing fast,
don't aim high, only bunt.

It's the only way to hit,
if you ever want to run
to the base, to the place,
that you think that you want.

When you get to that spot,
you'll see you're nowhere close to done.
So you wait for your chance:
chance to run, run, and run.

Just to get where you started.
Back to home: oh what fun.
What's it take just to stop
all these circles in the sun?

Beyond the prairie,
grew the grade.
As we trekked
the mountain's shade,
Earth grew stony underfoot,
the wind blew unallayed.
Two of the horses
were made lame
before a quarter trip was made,
so we divided up their burden,
and made camp for the day.
Two more night's march,
boulders growing along the way,
brought us 'round to skirt the giant,
the landscape: disarray.
A man was thrown from mount,
and he died, to our dismay,
in a state of so much pain
it was a frightening display.
The ground was much too vile
for the horses on this foray.
Two men left, for the castle,
with the equines, at my say.

We left the mountain's shadow
for the heat of a new day.

The warmth was welcomed
by the men and I,
after our climb
on the mountainside.
Quickly, though, we realized:
The sun was wolf,
in sheep's disguise.
We shed the wools,
and all the hides,
carried a minimum
of supplies,
and still we found,
to our surprise,
a heat that cooked us all alive.
It scorched our skin,
and burned our eyes
with pain that grew
throughout the night.

We then travelled in the darkness
for what seemed an endless flight.
We tried to sleep during the day,
but the sun yet brought us plight.
We travelled two days under moon,
and one day through the light.
On the fourth day in the desert,
our objective lay in sight.

Through our land, the forest knew
what we were, and were about.
We travelled unmolested,
our own personal redoubt.
The hunting there was easy.
The game was all about,
and the forest seemed to mourn us
as we made our way back out.

To the north of the forest
lay the plains and river mouth,
where the marsh filled the lands,
thawing miles south.
To the east, lay our mine.
The Queen hid thereabout.

Steeling my resolve,
I challenged nature with a shout:
"Throw what you will at me,
you will not block my path,
for it is love that guides me,
I can survive your cruelest wrath,
but take pity on my men!
They don't deserve to hear the laugh
of fickle nature's whim,
as they breathe their dying last.
Let us through the land we're in!
We only beg you let us pass!"

I held a coin up to the wind,
And let it fall into the grass.
The men all did the same;
tradition from ages passed
still echoed to this day,
the sentiment unsurpassed.

We mounted and rode away
through a prairie of spun glass.
The ice-coated wheat,
lit by the sun, like polished brass,
made us bringers of destruction:
the shattered trails of our trespass
were evidence of our intrusion,
in scattered gold aftermath.

I gathered men,
and gathered tents,
gathered water,
ropes and mince,
bows and quivers,
slings and stones,
and all the knights
who bravely fence.
...And cried the wenches
and the wives,
in their fear of ill portent,
so I left them all behind,
and struck out with only ten.
Others volunteered,
but I feared The Queen would win,
and leave a village full of widows
with no one to defend.
I needed stealth to stop the wretch,
a small team to get me in,
and the men could save their homes
should a larger war begin.

The mountain shades our valley:
The path long and thin,
to the other side of the Titan,
to the caves of burning wind.
The first leg of the journey:
The cold of winter's bend,
then the heat that boils brains
through hair, and skull, and skin.

So with provisions, well-wishes,
kisses, and gifts from love and kin,
I took my men
through the most vicious limits
the elements could comprehend.

I found the room was gone,
leaving my head spinning.
I was standing near a mountain,
vast chasm grinning.
Lamps within the cavern
took their turns dimming
as the wind teased their flames:
The tongues of dragons spitting.
I flew back into my head
as I heard the rock splitting.

So The Queen hides herself
beneath a mountain's peak...
I knew of only one summit
she could reach at any speed.
Suddenly, I was filled
with a sense of dire need.
Righteous rage, smelted anger,
rose to bloom inside of me.
The weight of knowledge,
and of hope,
forged a blade of urgency.
Is this blade of mine a tool?
Is pressing rage a strategy?
...Or am I forced to play the fool?
Is this tale a tragedy?
While I reacted to the visions,
I shook violently,
and heard the gurgle of the beast,
as he breathed in labored heaves.

"Listen filth;
He who is made of dead leaves,
if only for the reason
he is what the worms eat.
There is less purpose for you
than there is for rotted meat.
Why are you so intent
on that I try and I succeed?
What business is it of yours,
I wield a sword against The Queen?"

At every curse uttered,
Rumpelstiltskin seemed to lean
a little lower, in the shoulders,
like the sadness of defeat,
but once again, he drew the curtain,
his demeanor growing mean.
He looked stronger in his anger
than anyone I'd ever seen.

"Do you not know yet, Royal One?!?"
He exclaimed explosively.
"Do you not think that I take notice,
When I see you pity me,
And insult me, and degrade me,
Simultaneously?
What was it you said
the first time you heard me speak?
I greeted you as friend,
and I repulsed you instantly!
If I have anger, and I do,
it is for she who made this be..."

The answer satisfied more
than my curiosity.
I almost pitied him then and there,
but for the mention in his speech,
the maniacal in his eyes,
the pain hidden beneath.

It is that way I recall him,
Looking back in memory,
And it is that way he stood silent,
As I took my quiet leave.
Like a tree, where once was forest:
Too lonely there to grieve,
and no reprieve in the weather,
only wave and wave of heat.

I peered into the mirror,
and saw that same look upon me.

I was awakened
from my dream,
chased away
by dying screams.
****** scenes
filled my head
until it bursted at the seams.
I lay upon my bed,
sunlight pouring through the screens,
Rumpelstiltskin looming over:
the example of serene.

"Mr. Prince, you're awake,
and unharmed, as you can see."
Said the mountain of corruption
that towered over me.
"We shared a little piece
of what makes us both unique.
You saw gutted, sloppy, ******,
with an underlying greed.
Deprivation, destitution,
the ******* lies beneath:
This putrefaction on the outside
reflects the horrors I have seen."
The beast again looked hurt,
then his face was wiped clean.
"While you recovered,
while you slumbered,
I have crafted you this thing.
It will take you to the brightest.
It will lead you to The Queen,
but you decide when you arrive
how you further will proceed,
when you gaze upon her face,
and you wish for it to bleed."

From behind his twisted back,
appeared a mirror lain with gold.
Rose and thorn and stem
adorned the filigree of its mold.
The glass of the mystery
showed depths I leave untold,
and the handle in my grip
felt of ice, it was so cold.

"Before I leave you to your quest,
be warned, I hold your heart in thrall.
A little piece of you to keep,
a price to pay so very small.
When your objective do you seek,
Ask the mirror. That is all:
Place it high upon the mantle,
and its magic you will call."

I did as he instructed,
and I summoned up my gall.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
where's the brightest one of all?
The burning flame, spells unclean,
I seek to find the evil queen.
The people fear her blackened hand,
whose shadow darkens all the land,
and so to seek this darkest night,
I must find this brightest light."

The mirror seemed to grow, and swell,
and shrink, and twist, and glow as well.
It seemed as though a cosmic veil
was thrown aside, and truth prevailed.

Screams sliced through the snow
(Falling heavy)
A warrior practices his throw
(Getting ready)
The butcher and the dead men know
(You pay the levy)
Who decides where the meat carts go?
(There isn't any)
So the three largest men
were lured within,
and the butcher had plenty to smoke.
Who decides where the meat carts go?

Whispers.
Barely heard sniggers.
Shouts, screams, and cries
fill the air with vigor.
Confusion gains theme
as chaos becomes victor:
Faces frozen in death,
bodies locked in rigor,
bolts growing from chests,
the hook of a cross bolt trigger.

Children burned alive,
fingerless hands searching for moms.
Parents made to watch,
then dismembered by the mob.

Pots of gold of such abundance,
they could never be carried off;
the thieves who hid the riches: dead.
The treasure: forever lost.

All corruption,
all *******,
was within these visions found.
Much too many were too vile
for the words that I lay down.
I search for meaning now,
and know that none is found.
As I read what I have written,
descriptions are only sound:
only air, moved by a body,
not yet in the ground.

Who decides where the meat carts go?

I remembered the deal made,
with the seer beneath the trees.
How careless my words chosen
in my haste amidst the weeds:
("Move my wife instead,
away from this evil thing,
and I will go, and I will slay it,
then return my wife, I plead.")
Would the seer place her in bed
if I slay this royal beast,
or is the white already dead?
...surely knows The Queen.
I felt frostbite creeping in,
through my leather-booted feet.

"Aye." I said, and paused
for the shiver 'cross my skin.
"The hands of winter are the cause
I will place my life in.
The Queen is gone from stead,
with her magic to hide in,
and I'm left with naught but bedsheets,
and a corpse to confide in.
I'll play your game, Rumpelstiltskin,
as though there were choice to begin,
but let me assure you, leprous horror,
I will do anything to win,
for my land is green and white;
I fear the desert's din."

Words ran from the mouth of decay:
"Let us start."
I stood beside the bed,
afraid to do my part.
Trepidation overtook me
as I gave into the art.
As you may have well guessed,
Rumpelstiltskin took my heart.

Rotted fingers worked their way
between the spaces of my ribs.
Infection spread, from ***** digits,
seeking new places to live.
The gnarled knuckles
rubbed and scraped,
like a bony dungeon shiv.
I felt his hand puncture my lung,
and I had no more breath to give.

I think maybe I died,
or maybe fell asleep.
I had visions,
dark and deep,
and dreams of evil things:

"Mr. Prince," Drooled the demon,
"I have paid the price for greed.
Dealing with worse than I
has made me what you see."
The lich stuttered when he said this,
pained to recall the deed.
Once again, the same thorn
made Rumpelstiltskin bleed.
"The degradation to my body
may have left my mind free,
but in order to make magic
on this scale, I have a need
for a life force, a will…
The kind of spark that starts a seed:
Small and bright, packed in tight,
with all the power of a tree.
Do I look as though
I have that kind of power left in me?
If I killed you in the process,
what kind of deal would that be?
I do not wish your death.
This you must believe,
by your heart, I mean your aura,
if you know what that word means.
It is a bright one...
Though not the brightest I have seen.
You will not die,
you will not sleep,
but more of something in between.
I will use your vitae,
Spiritus ichor,
you may not like what you perceive,
but from this force,
from this chakra,
I will fashion you a thing.
It will show you to your desert.
It will show you to the queen.
It indicates the brightest aura,
anywhere from here to sea,
and of them all, we know
that the strongest one is she."

"You say you wish to slay me, prince,
yet you barter with ease
with- what was it you said?
Dead flesh and mal disease?
What do you see?
Corpse meat?
The food of flies?
Yet you demand what you please!
You haven't heard my price, prince.
Let me give you reprieve:
You may not want to part,
but it's your heart that I need.
I will have my payment full,
if you wish to see my deed."
"My heart indeed!
You ask for only everything!"
My voice rose in pitch
as my words grew in speed.
"Vile wretch!
How am I to stop what summer brings,
without a heart to beat inside my chest
and blood for it to clean?"
Is this a dream?
What does this creature mean?
He needs a pulse?
He needs a life?
He needs a heart for conjuring?
Rumpelstiltskin let me think
while he poured himself a drink.
It was thrown into his mouth,
from which rose a vile stink.
Blackened gums and septic teeth
caged a tongue, red and pink,
and saliva, ever always,
filled the dam and breached the brink.

Across divides
Peering eyes scry
for places left to hide
and realize that simple minds
of men in mines
could be her spies.
Across divides,
tearing skies cry
like bolts within the night.
Fireflies coalesce
in rivers of molten light.
On the path of least resistance,
magic flows and reunites
in such a pattern,
such a vision,
to witness is to invite.
Across divides slumbers ice.
Peaceful winter's grasp: a vice.
Sister to the frigid,
Magic hunts for winter's light
While princes trap rabbits,
And marvel at sunlight.
Across divides,
princes realize
that the morning has advanced,
and start heading back inside.
A monster wakes from sleep,
rousing milky, blackened eyes.
It cries at its own horror:
Tears that never dry.
It makes its way into the day
wearing death as a disguise.
Across divides.

"Let's see," said the corpse,
"I spy a large tree.
There are apples all around it,
and the men pick out the seeds.
They throw the apples out instead,
and give the seeds to The Queen.
Now, a ring!"
His face changed with the scene:
Intense concentration
underneath the gangrene.
"Under veil of a wedding,
it seems a joyous thing,
when the jewelry is exchanged,
with the heavens opening.
Sunlight melts the snow,
And the birds begin to sing,
But somehow, I still know
That evil is happening;
Apple seeds in the snow,
That won't grow in the spring,
Turn to rot, down below,
In disruption of the serene."
No longer could I act
As though this monster told me lies.
Through the act of sharing magic,
I saw truth behind his eyes.
Oh so blind I had been!
The vision blossomed in my mind:
Seeds, apples, snows, and rings,
connected by their lines.
Constellations, resolution,
and clarity defined,
gave me reason to hesitate.
Before I spoke, I took much time.
"Look at me corpse," I began,
"Just keep your mouth closed and drown.
The way you salivate disgusts me,
and defiles the ground.
I see The Queen has used the seeds
in her poison compound,
and when I gave my bride her ring
The Queen was nowhere to be found."
I heard a knock upon the door,
which grew into a pound.
The guardsmen outside
had heard my voice sound.
I sent the men away,
to the searching of the town
for the seer with no eyes,
and brambles in her gown.
"Rumpelstiltskin," I said,
and his image solidified.
It seemed he faded when I left
to send the men back outside.
"I will **** you on this spot,
if next you tell me winter died.
This is a forest, not a desert,
tell me: is my wife alive?
I threatened ******,
but we both knew I had lied.
I'd rather try to slay this villain,
with no hope that I'd survive,
than spend a minute or a moment
in a world without her eyes.
"I hope you realize
that the power in between us
is more than normal lives.
We are part of this land
Filled with winter's ice."
...And with my heart in my hand,
I purchased his advice.

"I know not much: no more than you-
But I know enough to dig
through the memories made in haste;
Small mistakes, they grow big.
What is it you thought you knew,
the night of wedding bliss?
How could such detail,
in your haste, let be missed?"

Standing only feet
from where the memory was made,
I was filled with frigid blood
at the way I had been played.
My face was such a tell!
Such misery displayed,
that the beast knew my thoughts
in such an intimate way.
Surely he knows them now?
Realization lit my face.
The demon's smile grew,
and darkened up the place.

"I see you know, Mr. Prince,
of the moment that I speak.
It seems your face has flushed,
and your knees have grown weak."

Is The Queen so vindictive
as to mark my girl's cheek?
Matriarch of many
Moved to ****** at her peak?
And why just now,
and not any other week?
It seems my lover's mother
suppresses others'
Happiness they seek.

I had no choice but bluff:
"What are these lies you're telling me?
My face flushes at your sight!
My feet quake to strike at thee!
Your image inspires hate,
and requires sympathy.
Look what you gain for your power!
Dead flesh, and mal disease?
What kind of life is that to live?
You're rejected by the fleas!
Yet you pretend that you know-"

"Mr. Prince, please!"
The fiend appeared hurt?
Confusing, to say the least...
The look was gone then,
and I listened to the beast.
"I'm sorry I interrupted,
but for insult, I have no need.
There is more I have to tell you:
I have to show you what I see.
We have a deal made,
and payment to be decreed,
for everything has a price,
and every soul has a deed."

When he spoke, I heard the truth,
and my heart adjusted speed.

This time I did not stumble.
As I ran, I did not fall.
I did not swim the moat,
Nor did I climb the castle walls,
But I made it to our chambers,
Ten guardsmen at my call.
As I crept into the room,
I left my charges in the hall.
The bed sat there empty,
sheets knotted in a ball.
The guardsmen came thereafter,
and we found nothing.

Nothing at all.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" I screamed,
with all the vigor of my lungs.
"Oh name of names,
Ill of ill,
the very word poisons tongues!
Show yourself! Explain to me,
what exactly have you done?"

"Oh, Mr. Prince, can't you see,
that I am not the one?"
Came a filthy, bubbling voice
From behind me, as I spun.
"If you recall, all I did
was warn you of danger come.
I gave notice, and you heard.
Believe: my heart is wrung.
This isn't my doing-"

Pulling curtains, I brought sun.
He flowed into the shadows,
like an oily liquid run.

"Listen demon, you play fools,
and I assure you, here are none.
I've battled dragons, battled ogres,
and all these battles, I have won.
If I should find a way to slay you,
That is not battle. That is fun.
Tell me the purpose of this ruse
before my patience is overrun."

"Oh, a deal, Mr. Prince?
Are you sure you're up for this?
I have knowledge, you have need,
but can you pay to rent my wit,
or should I leave you to yourself,
to search the halls and dungeon pit?"
Every word that he spoke,
the horror dribbled spit.

"Name your price, monster,
And I will give what I can give.
My life is nothing without White.
I would be only black within."
I waited for the council
of this Rumpelstiltskin.

"Have faith, little prince.
Now is not the time to grieve.
There are moments still left
for your wish to be received.
Hurry now! Do be quick!
For her life is yet to leave.
You can save your woman still.
What will your wish be?"

Precious time, passing by,
and standing, reeling, me.
Through my mind thoughts flew
like birds let free.
I chose the only answer
as I knew there to be.

"My wife is in her bed,
fearless in her sleep.
And the demon, he said
that the danger's in my keep.
Move my wife instead,
away from this evil thing,
and I will go and I will slay it,
then return my wife, I plead."
The seer raised her head,
staring straight at me.
"This is my wish," I confirmed.
"I hereby decree."

Still she only stared,
but once again, I felt a breeze.
The smell of rotting fish
seeped between the trees.
"The gift has been given."
She said eventually.
"Go now to your castle,
And search for the wicked beast."

In my haste, I never wondered
Why she asked about the queen.

Fickle be the weeds,
for they are many,
and can afford it.
Solemn be the trees
for they are alone,
supporting their adornment.

By now I had my wits,
and I knew what I had seen.
This child was blind as night!
I recognized this magic thing!
"Tell me of my wife!
Is there danger where she dreams?
As she lays there in her peace,
I imagine a dagger's gleam
Floating silent, in the darkness...
Would she even wake to scream?
I am told by a monster,
there are serpents where she sleeps."

A crooked smile formed slowly;
across her face it creeped,
like the shadow of the taker
Eclipses those he reaps.
As slowly as it came,
the smile did retreat.
The Oracle came to stand
in the shadow of the trees.
"By asking me this question,
do you accept the gifts I bring?"

In the worry for my other,
"Yes!" I almost singed.

The priestess grabbed my wrist
as her ivory teeth gleamed.
The wind began to shift,
Picking up countless leaves;
the smell of rotting fish
filled the aroma of the breeze.
As quickly as it came,
the smell was gone,
and the girl fell to her knees.
The wind and litter fell.
The heat rose ten degrees.
The child stood, face in pain,
sweat running down in beads.
"The news is bad," she said simply,
and my heart skipped a beat.
"It looks as though your snow
is in danger, I agree,
but my visions, they are short,
and the peril I did not see."

The monster spoke the truth:
She is in danger! Why tell me?
Rumpelstiltskin and his tricks,
or an assassin of The Queen's?
Has my lover been attacked?
Was she murdered in her sleep?
Are there knives in her back?
...Fire licking at her feet?
The panic on my face
was thick enough to read
for a blind seer standing
Barefoot in the weeds.

I only stopped to claim my sword,
Adorned with royal rose hips.
I tried to run to the castle.
I would swim the moat's ditch:
Brave the monsters of the waters,
to shorten my frantic trip.
I would have climbed the tower walls,
I would have scaled the steepest cliffs
to keep the snow within my globe:
To keep my wife beside my hip.
The man's laughter flowed, chortling,
Over lacerated lips,
As he watched me run a fool,
Stumble, stand, and slip.
It faded from my ears,
but from my mind it never did.

There before me, I saw a figure.
It appeared to be unhid;
standing in the thicket,
as though the forest where it lived.

I stopped and slid.

The path beneath my feet
betrayed my stealth instantly.
How must have looked my face,
when she turned to peer at me!
"What do you in this place?"
I asked, fumbling visibly.
The child, when she spoke,
could be no older than thirteen.

"Know you the queen?"
She asked, happily.
Her teeth were white and clean.
Her face was fair and even.
Her body: strong and lean.
Her eyes were closed and bathing
in the sunlight's warming beam.
"I have come from lands unknown here,
it does no service to name my king.
I carry presents to this land;
Rumors of bells ring.
The marriage of true love
is occasion for all to sing.
I am a seer, and glimpse the future,
and the peril that it brings.
I'm here to grant a single wish
to a prince who is charming."

"I've a story that I'll share,
if you think you can attend.
It seems I know a little more
than you think that I pretend.
There's an evil in your house,
on which your lover's life depends.
There are wheels set in motion,
and it isn't gold they spin."

I cut the air in half
between my sword-blade
and his chin.

"Are you threatening my household?"
I growled; rage built within.
He turned his eyes upward:
Proffered breast to razor's whim.
In his sickness, he seemed ready
to meet his life's end.
Indecision overtook me:
Hesitation, paper thin,
Gave advantage to the monster
that was Rumpelstiltskin.

He pushed it in.

The sword pierced the rotted flesh
unlike any live men
I had ever pierced in battle
when evil commanded them.

He thrusted forward,

the light in his eyes dim,
until nose to nose he faced me;
No sword would divide him.

"Now, please, Mr. Prince,
I'd like to provide hymn,
although the subject of my sermon
isn’t divine sin.
Here stands the castle
that your wife resides in.
What is she doing, sleeping soundly,
Safe within your den?
Yet as we speak,
there is a serpent,
No brute leviathan,
but no less deadly,
I assure you,
or I'm not Rumpelstiltskin."

At this time, with a flourish,
he whipped around in sudden spin,
and the sword within his heart
was cast aside into the glen.
His twisted, mangled face
made a somehow violent grin.
I used that very moment
to turn heel and fly from him.

Scroll down and see.

Here, have a story:
I speak I talk I teach
with these words here before me.
Read them as you seek
entertainment in its glory.

Scroll down and read

all the sadness of these pages
all the poems of these sages
all these failures all these rages....
All this site does is display it;
it's the pain that helps us make it.

Scroll down and pass it by:

there is too much hurt to share,
there is too much sad to try
and so you find the kind of poem
that distracts you for a time.
Here's mine.

The man I met, short of height
was lightly built, with pale skin.
He was covered in dripping sores
As if to vent the ill within.
He was decayed to the core;
it had worn his frame thin.
"Hello, my friend," his mouth extruded,
Saliva flowed upon his chin.
"I have no want," I replied,
"For a beast so full of sin,
that his body has surely died,
long before him."
His brutish face contorted
and he looked as if chagrined.
"Don't let your eyes deceive you,
I believe you won't again,
once you've tasted of the power
Of Rumpelstiltskin."
At this, I knew for sure,
If I fought, I would not win,
So I listened, and I thought,
That I felt frost upon the wind.

In the morning, I awoke
to find the sword gone from my hip.
My fear seemed foolish,
Even childish,
And as my hand searched for the grip,
I saw my love,
I mean my wife,
As pure as winter in her slip.
I freshened for the occasion,
after closing curtains quick,
to keep the glory of the day
held back for just a bit.
By now I had my sword,
and bow and arrows,
Iron-tipped.
I had twine, and hooks,
And chum from the cooks,
and a solid angler's stick.
If I failed in my hunting,
I could at least catch a fish,
and wake my lover with the aroma
of a breakfast she can’t resist.

Out I went.

Too much time was wasted:
Half the morning out I spent.
I know snow would understand
if summer refused to desist
Just to spend another day
in a sunlight just like this.

So back I went,

Feeling weighted
by the rabbits I had skinned,
Feeling sated by my catch
and the fragrance on the wind.
All the wonders of the forest,
and the bounty found therein,
Made me joyous for my kingdom,
And on my face I found a grin.
In the clearing of the meadow
that we built our castle in,
I met a man,
then a woman,
and it is here this tale begins.

I remember her then:
Pale skin and rouged lips,
Playful whim and pendulous hips.
Oh yes, I remember this.
The fairest of them all,
Midnight-maned with eyes that wish,
that she were born under the rule
of a queen and not a witch.
Who chose this?
It was I who tried assist,
and when the thorn of roses missed,
I knew the witch could not resist.
Sickened magic, poisoned apples,
Made to seem a tasty dish
Made their way onto the table
of my true love's wedding gifts.
Later, in the darkness,
hiding true love's wedding bliss,
I was courted with foreboding
As if this, our only tryst,
would be soiled by the treason
that this hateful witch insists.
I lay there in the dark,
my lover's breath, a ghostly wisp.

I feel a million miles away,
From when you were me,
And I was you.
I feel a million miles away,
Having been rent in two.
You used to be so close,
That I felt I always knew
I was a million miles away
From losing you.
Traversing all this distance
Has taught me something new:
Millions of miles exist
In which I have a perfect view.

I see the smiles you have.
I see the things you do:
The things you used to do
When you were me,
And I was you.
So now a million miles away,
In perfectionist display,
I see you every day,
And I miss your every way,
But no longer are you she:
The she I thought I knew
A million miles ago,
When you were me,
And I was you.

And we were us.

SITTING, staring patiently
debating taking silent leave
to heave my bones toward reprieve
and shake off all that's shaking me.
SITTING, staring patiently
I see the demon's point in me.
I see it shine, I see it weep,
and see it when I go to sleep,
LAYING, waiting patiently.
Horribly, these foggy dreams
do less to please
than psyche needs.
I feel a presence gazing me.
LYING, waiting anxiously.
Now here it is debasingly
teasing me insatiably,
promising my every need:
LYING, hiding everything.
What do we call this foul disease?
This object overtaking me?
A spoon and needle ****** me.
LOSING, hiding everything.

He picks up the pennies,
everywhere he goes.
Pieces of bigger things:
the fragments of the whole.
There never was a miracle
too small to behold,
and so he kept every one,
and every one made him bowed.
The others all around him,
seemed happy in their role,
but he knew only backache,
toil, and toll.
He carried his burden,
as vast as he, old.
Too large to conceal,
he never let it go.
He slept on coin pillows
the color of mold
and defended his treasure
with a vigor so bold
that ten men together
should endeavor to hold.

One day while counting,
the man, in his home,
heard a noise from the ceiling
that sounded of groan.
He dashed for his pennies,
as groan grew to moan
and was crushed under rains
of money he owed.

We dream of the stars,
And once we reach them,
We long for home.
We long for others,
And when we meet them,
Wish to be alone.
We aspire to fame,
And once we're popular,
We don't want to be known.
Let's nail our feet to the ground.
Let our desires pull us up,
And once we're stretched thus, be grown.

She smelled like the dirt,
The deep rich of earth,
The water and the air,
The carbon and the mirth.

She looked like the sky,
Her head lifted high,
Clouds in her features,
Birds passing by.

She tasted like the stream,
The water cold and clean,
With the fauna and the falls,
She was all in between.

She sounded like the night,
The wisp of bats in flight,
The chirping of the crickets
Before the morning's light.

She felt like trees:
Strong, but in the breeze,
Swaying to the music
Only heard by me.

The green dies.
Never totally, but effectively.
The shadows reach across the land,
increasing their span.
They spill and run off edges like paint that never dries.
Yet you can step in it and never leave a print.
...Or never have one in the first place,
never leave your mark, just crush the foliage:
**** whatever life is left.

The air steams your breath:
A lesson in mortality.
Look! See what makes you tick?
Let me take it, freeze it, condense it,
put it on display, and leave none for you:
the one who made it...
just to make a snowball
(which is really just a fight waiting to happen.)
(Who stockpiles ammo with no intention of using it?)
(Who bites their tongue with nothing to say?)
Too many snowballs grow to be an igloo:
fallacies you can live in for a while.
It's better to just be rid of them.
Let them fly, let them fly...
Relinquish your breath back to its element:
say what must be said, even if it kills you.

It's all the same in the end:
the land will thaw,
the shadows recede,
the snow will melt,
the air will fill with argument.

Why make so much noise
if you can just throw the snowballs
as you make them?

I'll tell you my frozen friend: shelter.

At least then, we can hide for a while.
Mold it to our will.
Sure, we could let it accumulate naturally.
Unformed and unmolded, it's just a burden:
unfocused feelings, drifts of words,
letters, and sounds.
It's better put to use as shelter than mud.
At least igloos are useful for a time,
(Mud still has to be dealt with in the spring,
Why start early?)
and snowballs are at least manageable:
little bites of envy, jealousy, suspicion.

Woe betide the sun who made THIS winter!
Leave US in the cold, why don't you?
Shower US in discomfort!
Leave US to deal with blessing after blessing
in the worst way possible!

It's in our nature to throw the snow,
to waste our respite, to fight with words.
If we don't, in our igloos,
we're washed away every spring
when the thaw takes our shelter,
our words,
our breath,
our loves,

our lives.

I'm trading tender for splendor:
The loss of sweat, not-so-tragic.
I'll build up my blisters for whispers:
Spells recited in habit.
Dollars can buy what I seek:
It doesn't take many to have it.
The strange, the odd, the mystique:
The flowers painted by rabbits.
The song played by the beach:
The harp without hands to grab it.
Nature has cradled my needs:
The order created by savage.
We pay for all of these things:
Even chance has stated this adage.
I know this from my own beliefs:
The months living as addict.
They blurred, and flew on the wings:
My "needs" growing emphatic.
The basement was surely my feet:
My mind, alone in the attic.
The empty, the holes, the replete:
Filled, trading my money for magic.

The little smile you give to me,
When I give you mine:
It's kind of like conspiracy,
Shared in our two minds.
The little giggle that you let fly,
When I let mine fly, too:
It's like laughing gas
Has come to pass
Between us: me and you.
You know what's coming,
And so do I.
No reason to try and hide it.
The smile grows into a grin,
No trace of guile inside it.
Defensively, you try to cover
Everywhere you can,
But you're helpless and you know it,
You can't hide from Daddy's hands!

A squeal of laughter breaks the still:
Anticipation let go in a voice so shrill.
The giggle becomes a full-force gale.
Were both laughing now:
A full-force wail!

Let's play a game,
We'll start from the top,
Just like it's something new.
We'll call this game
"Son and Pop,"
Or maybe just,
"Gonna Get You!"