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!"

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.

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.

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!

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.

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 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.

"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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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."

"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?"

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?"

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've 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.

I'm an inch away from giving up.

An inch past it, to be precise.

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.

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.

Tell
Everyone
Lies.
Especially
Very
Interesting
Sometimes
Insidious
Ones.
Nightly.

We
Relinquish
Ink
To
Enjoy
Relating
Stories

Most
Others
Needlessly
Suffer
Trauma
Early,
Right?
Silence.

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.

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.

Semantic satiation

Will stretch the imagination

To the point of obliteration

Of the word's association.

Too much saturation

Of linguistic sussuration

Can lead to situations

Of over stimulation;

Repetitious undulations

Lead to the sensation

Called semantic satiation,

Just like this occasion.

Let
Only
Virtue
Enter
Lightless
Yonder

And
Beauty
Out
Very
Easily.

As
Nights
Do,

Breaking
Evenings
Linger
On
Wistfully.

Yet,
Over
Unlikely

Acres
Receded,
Evaporated;

W­hen
Hell
Overfroze;

I

Kindly
Nodded,
Over
Whelmed.

Happy
And
Stunned,

A

Student
Of
Unspoken
Links.

Realize
Every
Fixed
Element
Retains
Exclusivity
Near
C
Energy

Find
Real­ity
Amidst
Multiple
Exchanges
Simultaneously

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."

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.

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.

"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.

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.

Porcine
Overpaid
Little
Insecure
Corruption
Enthusiasts

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?

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.

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.

All
Characters
Represented
Orderly
So
That
It
Creates
Sense.

evoL

Look at this man.
Do you know what I'm after?
Do you know what happens
when screams replace laughter?

You're a platter.

...couldn't be improved with fried batter.
...but does that matter
when you intentionally make me madder?

Tears, rips and tatters,
thrown swears and adders
slice up the cadaver.

Blood splatters.

What is it that you're after?
Is it somewhere up this ladder?
The higher that you climb
the more your life gets sadder.

Looking at yourself,
you know that you're mad at her.

...and your sad matters,
...but only to sad havers
of bad batterers gathered
to have their fractures spattered
with words designed to flatter.

That's love backwards.

It's an oxymoron:
A blind man's vision,
Rehabilitative prison,
The poor politician.
It's an oxymoron:
Assisted suicide,
The creation of destruction,
The modest man's pride.

Allow me to demonstrate,
Insinuate, reiterate:
All the things that make us great  
Are all the things that make us hate.
The more you have,    
The more you do:
Hate on those with less than you.
It's tried and true,
No need to prove,
Object and ego interlude.
Intertwined and destitute,
For love of money we *******
Our hearts, our minds,
In business suits
We quickly leave behind our roots
All in pursuit of a little loot.
When we catch it,
We can bet,
It's a lesson we soon forget.
How quick it goes when we let
Our judgment past our retrospect!
How easy it is for our regret
To catch us up in its wide net!
It's all our faults,
It's us we left,
To bounce on back
Like rubber checks

It's hard to say, but surely true,
'Twas a lonely day 'fore I met you.
We spent it talking all afternoon
And locked our hands as darkness grew.

At midnight we shared secret news.
What could leave the night subdued?
In pitch and fury, passions do,
Which led to dawn in bright renew.

We broke our fast and moon withdrew.
The morning laughed with me, with you...

The most perfect day I ever knew,
Started lonely, cold, and blue.

It's like i'm from another earth,
i'm so extra-terrestrial.
It's like i'm from a ****** birth,
annointed holy: the celestial.
My word is the blade of man,
i'm the vocalist vestibule,
with the tongue that is best to rule:
i spin gold with but threads of wool
Fools clear out they schedules
for the local, state, federal,
yet i endeavor unfettered through
The restrictions that tether you.

The purchase of aptitude
is priced to attract but few,
my soul at this altitude
is burdened with solitude:
i'll be forever indebted
to the devil i sold it to.

Spoiled

I'm just a lower-class ox,
clodding in the ****
of the beast
tied in front of me.

All we do is argue
and we fight
over everything.

Why is it that money's
problematic, automatically?

Why is it you spend
all of your time
being mad at me?

Accused infidelity,
suspicious activity
lead me to believe
that it's a question
of your loyalty.

I treated you like royalty
and now you're just spoiled meat.
The magnitude of cruelty
has broken free and tainted me.

Can you really make things new?
Polish, tack and glue
All the faults and cracks in you
All the hurt that you accrued?

Can you erase all the dues:
All the debt that you renew
Every time that you debut
The habits that you subdue?

Can you go back in time?
Stop your life and press rewind,
Use a moment just to find
The instant you changed your mind?

I don't want to take it back.
I want you where you're at...
So if we ever break again
We know how to fill the cracks.

They call me the commisserist.
Formerly the lyricist,
Maniacal empiricist
The consequence of ignorance,
Innocence, and decadence,
Offensiveness and recklessness,
****** derivatives
And withdrawing cohabitatants.

It prolly made me who I am.

The evidence is obvious
In devious derrogitives.
Indeed it is a problem if
With copious admonishment,
Obnoxiousness and callousness,
Carnivorous compulsiveness
Fix Chemical imbalances,
Inglorious and various.

I'm demanding chariots
And lariats apochryphous
Precipitating blood and dust
To accolades appropriate.
Dangerous in hopelessness
Religion for the atheist
Unanimous consensus is
That weaknesses cannot exist
Within the noxious consciousness
Of Bryan the commisserist.

Cardboard
and
royalty
delineated
sequentially.

Your Song


A long time ago,
there once was a boy,
who truly held the feeling
of peace at his employ.

It was beheld in the form
of a girl who brought him joy,
but she left with a rush,
leaving behind a her-shaped void.

He never once had kissed her.
She never heard his song.
Yet sorely he still missed her
on days that grew too long.

Then there came a day,
once the boy was a man
that he saw this girl, a woman
and he thought he could understand;

though they weren't far apart,
they lived in very different lands
and these feelings in his gut
were never in his hands.

It was then, that he told her
she was the one that got away.
He wished that he could hold her,
but it was far too late to change.

He wished that he could say it,
but would it sound far too strange?
He wished that he could show her,
but how could he demonstrate?

Then, he remembered:
a note from long ago.
He had once told her he loved her,
and it once had brought him hope.

She never said it back,
but his spirit wasn't broke,
as you may tell from these words,
this very song that he wrote.