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1.9k · Nov 2021
Bryan Nov 2021

1.8k · Dec 2021
Growing Pains
Bryan Dec 2021
I used to grow flowers.
Pretty little petals
Sprouted from letters.
Into pretty little paragraphs
Sprouted from words.

Now I only grow lonely.
Ugly little concepts
Sprouted from doubts
Into fetid thoughts
Sprouted from desolation.
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
Please, read on. This is an entire story.

Part 2
712 · Nov 2021
Bryan Nov 2021
I love acrostics. I should do more of these.
634 · Nov 2021
Bryan Nov 2021
627 · Nov 2021
Bryan Nov 2021
I have the best news.
I rediscovered my old muse.
All the faults in the world
Have taken on different hues
And I can use
That kind of view
Because I've muddied
the one I knew
And though I barely see the world,
I can clearly see you.
606 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
540 · Dec 2021
Dumb Acrostic
Bryan Dec 2021
478 · Oct 2017
The Collector
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
473 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
Fickle be the weeds,
for they are many,
and can afford it.
Solemn be the trees
for they are alone,
supporting their adornment.
463 · Oct 2017
Release Agent
Bryan Oct 2017
Eddies and curls
Swishes and swirls
From fingertips
Relief begins
To make its trip.
Hold the flame
To the tip
Butane leaked
In its slow drip
Fuels the flame
Lit by flint.

There it goes!
There it goes...
Above the chin
Under the nose
Between the lips
To stain the gums
Over the tongue
Into the lungs.

The cheeks, they flush
Feel the rush!
The heart beats fast
To clean the blood...
Clean the blood
Of toxic gas.

The heart, it stills,
The lungs, they slow.
Down the hill
The windpipe goes.
One last gasp
Of poison still,
And the brain dies last
To seal the deal.
457 · Nov 2021
Bryan Nov 2021
I have more acrostics on my page
456 · Oct 2017
Want To?
Bryan Oct 2017
'Cause I have to pursue you,
You got me with voodoo,
Who does it like you do?
Overcome with the new you,
Swept in the word,
Of a curse,
Of a homebrew:
I knew that I knew you,
But all that I've been through
Is enough to give into.
Come with me and we'll run to
A place where the sun dew
Is run through with rainbows
And all that is come due.
Want to?
450 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
443 · Oct 2017
Sitting Laying Lying Losing
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
Bryan Oct 2017
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,
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.
427 · Oct 2017
Trading My Money For Magic
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
418 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
418 · Oct 2017
Random People Anonymous
Bryan Oct 2017
Chances gambled.
Seconds ticked.
Across the room,
Eyeballs flick.
Paths intersect,
Feet move quick.
Hi, I'm guy,
And your name's chick!
You have ****,
And I've a ****!
Let's get together,
And see what fits...
Throw *** at each other,
And see what sticks,
Share gasps together,
And then feel sick.
375 · Oct 2017
To You...
Bryan Oct 2017
To those of you who know me,
You know me not at all.
To those of you who don't:
These are my beacons in the fog.
These words have been my anchor.
They've been there to break my falls.
I've illustrated my escapes
From within these empty walls.
On these pages are the prices
That I've paid for life's surprises.
I've lain waste to pens revising,
Re-copying, refining.

Not all of it is exciting,
Nor sad, or uninviting,
But I gain pleasure from these words,
And from the simple act of writing.

And so for this I'm pleading,
And maybe even needing:
Take pleasure from these words,
And the simple act of reading.
370 · Nov 2021
Sleight of Hand in Hand
Bryan Nov 2021




Bryan Nov 2017
"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."
340 · Oct 2017
The Devil's Favorite Song
Bryan Oct 2017
I had a second chance at heaven
And I threw it all away.
I once again felt my happiness
Sour into hate.
On this page are the words
That exemplify my rage.
I once was great
But now I'm lost,
To this misery and pain.
My path: a fog, through trodden dirt
To a cemetery gate.
For what dark fate
Does this soul
So very anxiously await?

My boots are caked with mud.
The smell of iron permeates,
Along with moss, the smell of dirt,
And most certainly decay.
Never mind my mortal soul...
What kind of demon lies awake
In the midst of human fruit,
Over-ripened in the day?

The splitting corpses seem to beg me,
"Stay away, stay away!"
Burgeoned fruit spills forth,
As the rinds peel away.

The tortures yet continue,
Testing will and sanity.
Stumbling forth into the mixes,
Pestilences use the meat:
Fruits of flies spill their guts
Under muddied, weary feet,
And in the soup, in the gore,
Coagulation races feast:
Clots of blood battle vermin;
Scabs crunch like autumn leaves.
To this yet, there is more
On this journey I have seen:
Fire burns, and humans ****,
And mix the ashes in the breeze.
What soulless cur,
What kind of beast
Inhales with pleasure
When he breathes?

Smoke and fire burn the horizon.
There is nothing left of peace.
To the camps I was swept,
In the tide of the deceased.

Hard at work in heat,
Tattered and flayed meat
Toils in agony,
Swinging hammers in defeat.
Blood-slickened handles
Slip from fingers weak:
Wood and metal sings
At worn and weary feet.

Rusted chains sling,
Slicing through the heat,
Slicing through the smoke,
Slicing through the meat.
In the distant, murky background,
Drums of war greet,
As flesh and bone and flame
Dance to the beat.

Chastened bones respond,
Breaking stones in the beyond.
The work of hell waits
For no man very long.
Gangs of chains tag along,
Making quite the fiendish song,
As the billions in the lakes
Add their agonies to the throng.
The shrieks of charred lungs,
And throats ruined long,
Build the thickness of the air:
An anguished plague of smog.
Keep the fires burning;
Add another human log.
Respite is just a word,
An idea like winter frost:
Once before, it had purpose,
But now, its meaning, lost.

Abandon hope, is what they say...
But not for very long.
In the fire, in the rock,
They find their words are gone.
... Long forgotten, but for the lyrics
Of the Devil's favorite song:
A timeless tune, that my soul
Had been singing all along.
338 · Nov 2021
Sewing The Wounds Closed
Bryan Nov 2021


337 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
Weighed down,
And buoyed up simultaneously.
Life does that sometimes:
It ties balloons to your feet.
Gray, iron balloons
To hold you down.

Dangle desire in front of me.
Sway it side to side.
Hypnotize me with charms,
And convince me that I'm happy
Just the way I am:
326 · Nov 2017
The Paradox of Sticky Buns
Bryan Nov 2017
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.
320 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
Nature sees what nature sees,
And nature does what nature does.
Minds believe in memories
And sometimes hearts believe in love.
When hearts and minds do both agree,
Conceived are dreams converged as one,
But love of life and logic leaves
Our livelihoods left out of luck.

Deceived are these who dream of things
Composed of money, grease, and blood:
Mechanical beings, with cogs and springs,
Like clockwork do this planet run.
In tightened shifts, devices click,
And slowly start to smog the sun,
But smoke and fog made synthetically,
How many does this bother? None.
Machines, you see, they do not breathe
The air they leave beneath for us.
They call this craft their politics,
And leave us here to pay in blood.
One by one, by one, we wonder,
Where the humans lost their love.

When will men begin to see
What nature sees how nature does?
318 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
I hear the moon is nice
This time of year,
And since it lacks an atmosphere,
There would be no storms to fear.
Sunny days and vistas clear...
I bet I could see my house from there!
Just leave the doors of the house shut tight,
And live alone, there in the night,
With all the world, there in my sight.
I'd have the view to keep me right,
And stars as friends to salve my plight.
Whirling 'round in endless flight,
I'd dance with Earth in points of light,
'Til Earth and Moon next reunite.
317 · Oct 2017
Gonna Get You
Bryan Oct 2017
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!"
316 · Dec 2021
Bryan Dec 2021
298 · Oct 2021
Vote today
Bryan Oct 2021
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.
284 · Oct 2017
To Many Too Many
Bryan Oct 2017
The most difficult thing I could ever do
Is dare to write this rhyme.
Words from pen, and ink in line
Fail to catch this moment of mine.
The look, the smell, the touch I feel,
Are all but lost in time.

I saw an angel look at me.
She knew she caught my eye.
But once I stopped to wonder,
The moment had passed me by.
I ache to gaze that lens again,
But when? Know not I.

And ache I do! 'Tis true! Unfair!
It seems the story of which I'm defined,
For I know that never,
Not in this life,
Would she deign to be mine.
How could such a mortal man
Pine for things divine?

This isn't the first time I've seen this angel,
And surely not the last.
...In a different vessel,
But still I wrestle,
I fight to drink her laugh.
I breathe the air when she is near
To taste her heart beat fast.

But not for me,
Would it seem
It beats for in the least.
I've pondered this in anguish,
Over hours, days, and weeks.
Yet still I nourish hope
In the face of my defeats.

And so I wonder how it came to be
That she would cross a path with me
And glance a short eternity
To tease me with my heart's decree.
Was it chance by some degree,
Or torture aimed accurately?

Neither thought doth hold much sway
For swiftly she is swept away,
And I will ache another day,
And pain will find another way
To force a man with no beliefs
To wish he had the gall to pray.
275 · Oct 2021
Keep going
Bryan Oct 2021
Trying to get

People to read

Of my thorns and roses

Is impossible.

Does it anyway.
265 · Oct 2017
Hello (Again) Poetry
Bryan Oct 2017
Disenfranchised youth
with dreams in our eyes,
we wile away the hours
teaching ourselves we are special.

Witnesses to miracles,
viewers of depravity:
the world is ours to see
at the touch of a button.

We've seen it all;
we feel we've done it all
and really we've done
nothing at all.

So our lament is saved:
saved from nonexistence,
but victim to obscurity
alone on HelloPoetry.
265 · Dec 2021
Greater Than Nothing
Bryan Dec 2021
263 · Aug 2022
Bryan Aug 2022
Whatever's clever
And furthers your endeavor,
Allow it to continue forever...
It's my pleasure.

May the happiness you seek
Find its way into your week
And you never let the meek
Trap your tongue in cheek.

Just spit it out and speak.
262 · Oct 2017
You Are Wrong
Bryan Oct 2017
When your patience wears short,
And the day seems too long...
When the night's first report
Sings a disappointing song...
You'll want to leave your ship of port,
And I'll remind you:
You are wrong.

Fickle be the weather,
For though the wind seems too strong,
Save your vigil for the sunrise
And don't believe that I am gone,
Because I'm here, and I will tell you,
Stay your sails,
For you are wrong.

It is a difficult decision,
Without crew to spur you on,
To depart on frigid waters
And ignore the siren's song.
You may fear that I'm not with you.
You may feel that I don't miss you.
...but here's my only issue:
You are wrong,
You are wrong!
Bryan Nov 2017
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.
253 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
Her fingers dance along the keys.
Delicately at first, then with more conviction,
As she grows more assured.
"Something inside this one is broken," she says,
The disappointment plain on her face.

Then she moves on.

After a time, sometimes a day,
Sometimes more,
Another comes by,
Finding the notes to her dislike.
"This tone is not where it should be."

And like all the others,
She moves on.

The instrument has been there waiting
For a long time.
When the shop closes,
And no one comes to peruse,
I sit down with myself,
And strike the chords aloud.
They sound beautiful to my ears,

As my heart-strings always do.
253 · Oct 2017
The Color in the Gray
Bryan Oct 2017
It's never black or white,
Up or down, night or day
In the twilight of the plight,
In the banal and malaise.
I can wish for better sight
In the mist, in the haze,
But I'm left with waning might.
See the dimming of my gaze?

But then, AWAY...

Lift the veil with burning blaze!
Evaporate the mist
As if the sun had come to play!
Push the pastel and fluorescent
Past the limits of distaste!
I see the best of light's forays
In the spectrum of your face,
And through the tears of blinding beauty,
You are the color in the gray!
251 · Oct 2017
Bryan Oct 2017
Men have scoured the earth
In search of lesser women than you.
Wars and famine,
In veneration,
Have been stricken in pursuit
Of the likes of half your substance.

Lain waste, the kingdoms of men,
And religion alike
In the name of madonnas
A mere fraction of your awe.

Tearing hell through this earth,
Here you stand before me:
Never prostrate, but exhilerant!
Sparks flowing from your hairtips:
A woman scorned!

All for the adoration of a poet:
The subject of your wrath
For his perception.
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
234 · Oct 2017
A Million, Love
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
Bryan Nov 2017
"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.
Bryan Oct 2017
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.
Bryan Oct 2017
"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.
Bryan Nov 2017
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.
Bryan Nov 2017
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!"
Bryan Oct 2017
"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.
Bryan Nov 2017
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.
Thank you for reading this. I hope you read through the entire series. It is meant to be read like any other book, straight through like a story.

Here's part 1 in case you ended up here somehow:
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