Despite repeatedly shaking her pincer... much as a sprightly pensioner might brandish a furled umbrella at a grappling contestant, currently being boo'd at in the red corner... the baby crab stamped her foot in annoyance as she glowered at every passing wave that rolled along the shoreline.  In absolving herself of any guilt she may have felt over her prolonged excursion, she had become, even further marooned by a failure to catch a succession of tides back home, an oversight she later confessed, to observe local tide-tables in 'Old More's Almanac...' on sale in all discerning book shops and selected High Street newsagents, priced 10/6d... for unless fluent in the Russian vernacular, it was just about as articulate to the little crab as a map of the Moscow Metro during a blackout, only to have the Rouble finally drop with a throat gagging 'Gaaargh...' clunk, that you were currently standing on the down-line platform, when you should've been stood on the up... as the last train lurched unsteadily out of the station whistling a jubilant entente cordiale... 'wish me luck as you wave me dasvidaniya'.

     Still stamping her foot, only now in strict rotation with the other seven, the baby crustacean peered out from beneath the shade of the large pebble, rearing its bulk out of the rockpool like a lollypop-lady's 'STOP'!!! sign, her beady eyes twitching independently, first this way, then the other, cut withering swathes through every cardinal point of the compass that didn't duck quite fast enough, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the rock-pool in which she found herself tapping her foot in today, would be no less aquatic as any other rockpool that she may find herself still tapping a foot in tomorrow and that the best course of action was simply to stay-put and take the matter up with the local town council, then petition for additional fare-stages to be implemented... and with the cost of shoe leather at current prices... well, with eight legs to consider it would make savings that weren't to be sneezed at.  

     It wasn't everyday of the week that a young and upwardly mobile baby crustacean had occasion to move both up-market and down the beach, all in the same mouthful... and into what could only be regarded as a desirable, detached beachfront property, a rock-pool of distinction with all available mod-cons.  She felt relieved that apart from the occasional day-tripper, who invariably dropped litter wherever they went, that a baby crab of distinction such as herself, was certain to be accepted socially and hob-*** with a new and discerning circle of acquaintances... you only had to take that nice lady earlier in the week, they both seemed to have so much in common... then she would roll up her sleeves and really show the neighbourhood what knitting was all about...  

     With as much enthusiasm as that of a three year old screaming for an ice-cream in the middle of an heat-wave, Red marched up the beach and as far from his wife's waspish tongue as a lame excuse would carry him, heading back towards the growing crush of holidaymaking fathers who were only there presumably, for the sake of their own children, laying siege to the mobile vendor... only this time, having already stood in the same queue ten minutes earlier, now had a sufficiency of funds to purchase that which he'd unsuccessfully queued for the first time.

      After an unspecified time which by his wife's reckoning was grounds for divorce... Red, now laden down with the iced confectionary picked his way through the same throng of fathers who moments earlier had been happily chatting in the queue together, were now enjoying the same berating as the one Red was looking forward to as he made his way back towards the rock pool, juggling more ice-cream than two manly hands could intelligently control... while in a bid for freedom, the rapidly thawing confectionary were hatching plans of their own, ones quite independent from those intended as they embarked upon their meandering exodus, known only to iced creamy desserts on hot sunny days... and into the unknown, roaming across Red's hands and trusting their fate to a far higher authority.

     "Did I mention that I was on a diet" snapped his significant other, as she sat licking pistachios from the melting cornet... "don't you ever listen," secretly smiling to herself... "and you did remember to bring Sockeye's water this morning.. didn't you..!" she continued "someone with half as much sense would've stood it in the rockpool to keep cool, I'm sure the little crab wouldn't have objected..!"   At the mention of his name, Sockeye with ears far too free-lance to ever consider gainful employment of their own, needed no further persuasion and charged straight through the rock-pool to his mistress's side, walloping the thermos flask for a tail whopping six... bringing his personal batting average so far this holiday to a self congratulatory forty not out... and found the baby crab spluttering flat on her back and having second thoughts on any immediate savings in shoe leather were she to stay. 

     Generous to a fault, Sockeye now thought to shower everyone's ice cream with liberal helpings of the seashore as several parasitic irritations had Sockeye hard at work serving eviction notices on some of the more exotic zoology that only a patent Bob Martin's would dare to muscle up to... the local wildlife, by the look on his face were having the time of their lives bivouacked behind his left ear, throwing wild parties and disturbing the peace.  Cross-eyed, it was only while launching a double pronged assault on the latest settlement of interlopers that Sockeye finally succumbed to his injuries and surrendered to a neighbouring sandcastle... it really didn't do to mention a certain name too loudly at times like these, especially when you just happened to be on the receiving end.

     For some strange reason he was undoubtedly in the dog house... they'd shouted at him, which made him sad, all except his little master who had pushed him away... which left him bereft.  Sockeye sat down on dads beach-towel and had a long, thoughtful scratch... where had all the fuss gone? he searched for appreciation their faces... his tail gave one disheartened thump before it stopped... and all those little pieces of ice-cream dipped wafer, which up until now had always appeared as if by magic.  

     Catching sight of one such treat, undoubtedly forgotten by the rock pool, a marauding seagull pulled out of a rolling dive and swooped, at the same instant as two gaping jaws launched themselves skywards... canine jowls quivering bravely in the light sea airs... and not too dissimilar to a heat seeking missile, rose gracefully from the ground to meet it... 'well intercepted..!' as both ears applauded in mid-air... no aerial freeloader was about to skip town with Sockeye's ice cream wafer without paying... leaving one solitary wing flapping its willingness to pay up.

     At least it kept her husband in useful employment Tina decided... and mercifully out from under her feet, as she brushed a fragment of affectionate pistachio from her bikini top... she'd have to  make sure he went for the ices in future... and without the means to pay for them... a mischievous smile turned the corners of her mouth as she leant towards the beach-bag and invested herself with several more juicy grapes... that everyone who fell within her sphere of influence had been warned well away from... under threat of dire consequence... and it would take a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one... she gave her husband who was sitting well within arms reach a caustic glance... and Tina's particular variety of justice had a very long arm indeed.

                                                        ­           ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1297

I am coming to this conclusion about myself.
It's like, ever since you left, I've lost my ability to love.
Maybe it is because I am drained of love.
Boyfriend number 2 comes along and originally, I feel in love.
I feel happy.
But I soon find things I dislike.
I soon find myself crying over the things he says.
I dump him sobbing.
The next day, I am restored.
New shiny porcelain.
I begin dating.
Date contestant one:
Everything seems to be going great, except for well... the fact that he's shorter than me..
We talk music
We kiss in his apartment
I am groped without permission and I lose all control.
What happened to CONSENT?
Repulsed, I leave.
Date contestant two:
Red Beard.
He is swift and stout,
runs circles over the backs of my arms
I don't know what love is, but maybe if I knew I could love him
He reminds me of you, but harder
Doesn't text back
Likes to play hard to get
And that's ****, you know?
Except for the fact that it's not.
I am dying to get at his every move.. his angle.
My heart races when I think about him... and what?
I barely know him...
The time spent kissing could have been spent with the air
and words
and connections
He grabs me too,
without consent
but it's somewhat... OKAY?
Like he's not super clingy, right?
He tells me he has had a nice time
And that hey lets hang out again.
Of course I agree.
Red Beard is a god send, right?
Date contestant 3
He arrives late
Is distant originally
I like that.
But then he kisses me and I hate it
He's clingy
He tells me way too much
Um, a girl with a baby??
No thanks
He never went to school
I want out
He doesn't get the hint.
I will probably never talk to him again
I am regretting life
I want Red Beard or you
GIVE ME SOMEONE FAMILIAR
I just can't stand sitting in my empty room and wondering
What. Went. Wrong?
I am so relieved when they leave
I am cold and I don't know if I just haven't met the right person...
Or if maybe... I lost my ability to love, because you drank it all straight from the stream.

It was bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
You saw them when you opened your set
Haven’t processed it yet
Gave bert my last four dollars
Fear I may live in squalor
If I screamed and hollered
Would it help
It was bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
Merrily followed by
opinionated white women
Black men
Black women
The Asians
The Haitians
Good gracious
The whole gang
A whole gaggle of them
Each one more opinionated than the other
A chorus that roars of
Incredible bores
Tuned into the conversation next door
It too was a bore
Everyone’s hysterical
If it weren’t so serious
Would almost be comical
The what if demons
Threaten to demean us
What am I going to do
I have no money
You think this is funny
I could go hungry
See what I mean
Why should I care
Money will appear from somewhere
If I only can believe it
It was bad enough when opinionated white men
My pill popping hon
Busted in on my fun
He’s out of pills
I’ll see what I can do
I’m out of them too
My appointment’s on Monday
I know it’s not even Sunday
It’s the best I can too
I'm out of them too
And then opinionated white women
What of it
He twists and turns
Thinks something is wrong with him
They examined all over him
No one’s yet uncovered
Discovered his apparent rigidity  
Stupidity, in moments near to him
Rigidity can be good or bad
Happy or sad
Depends if your frozen or fried
Broiled or foiled
Sautéed or filleted
Or nicely done hon
What was I saying
Yeah, rigidity’s a *****.
Always on the hook
You play it by the book
You’re ready to defend
Opinionated white men
Seeking some advantage
Prowling for an entrant
Doesn’t matter
I’m not a contestant
I play by the book
Which book are you looking for
They change by the season
They change by the reason
They change by the color
They change by the number
They change by the thunder
They change by the why
They change by the hi(gh)
They change by the sigh
They change by the discipline
It took to get here
I need a break from this exchange
Dear
Finally, they’re gone
Glorious alone-time
My mind can roam-time
Away from the beehive
Mind-hive project set.
Are you ready set
It’s bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
Were the whole set, subset, sweat set upset
Not yet set
Yet set
Ready set
Go set
Maybe set
Maybe no set
Rap set
Whoa set
She said set
I’ll get back to you on that set
But not yet set
I need a rest set
For god’s sake
Let me think about it
It’s only been nine years
Nine months
Nine days
nine minutes
Nine seconds
A split sec
Compared to an eternity set
It was bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
You saw them when you opened your set
Haven’t processed it yet
Must be hiding way out on the net set
My God, how can I talk about rigidity
But I’ve changed my mindset
Ok?
But, not yet.

Here,
in the room of my life
the objects keep changing.
Ashtrays to cry into,
the suffering brother of the wood walls,
the forty-eight keys of the typewriter
each an eyeball that is never shut,
the books, each a contestant in a beauty contest,
the black chair, a dog coffin made of Naugahyde,
the sockets on the wall
waiting like a cave of bees,
the gold rug
a conversation of heels and toes,
the fireplace
a knife waiting for someone to pick it up,
the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of a *****,
the phone
two flowers taking root in its crotch,
the doors
opening and closing like sea clams,
the lights
poking at me,
lighting up both the soil and the laugh.
The windows,
the starving windows
that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
Each day I feed the world out there
although birds explode
right and left.
I feed the world in here too,
offering the desk puppy biscuits.
However, nothing is just what it seems to be.
My objects dream and wear new costumes,
compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands
and the sea that bangs in my throat.

This morning i watched Jeremy kyle!
Another father in a useless denile!
Another ***** with the width of a bar stool,
Chucks another father in with the disgusting gene pool.

Miserable forlorn Cattle going to slaughter,
Have more class than your abhorent daughter!
The pity i feel for that wretched child,
Thats bought up in a system that's been defiled.

The onlookers cheer as another ****** makes a jest.
About the poor man shes been using is clothed in some ill fitting vest.
Well done contestant three,
You have proved to us the ***** you can be!

Now please take your rapid leave,
Before we call your **** or boyfriend Steve.
That you've been sleeping with your cousin,
And no doubt have his bun in your oven!

there is an
old jewish hermit crab
spending his sunsetting years
in Boca.

after all these
years he still
finishes his beers,
but now he takes his coke
with cola.

he's gotten so old,
his heart's grown so sour,
that he believes himself
to be protestant;
remembers meeting ******
as a third-placing contestant
on Walt Disney's variety hour.

growing bored
with the Lord
he fancies the shuffleboard,
though he quickly grows tired
of being pushed over rough cement;
never invited to play--
he just came along whenever they went.

now he never thought
he'd make it this long,
he thought his heart
should have died from
being broken;
so he may not have
much longer in life,
but he'd like
to spend it wide open

so with polish for chrome
he shines up his dome
and makes haste to leave
his humble home.
he will sell his timeshare
--afer all, who cares?
and finally embrace
his freewheeling spirit;
--the West?
he'd never even been near it

well he didn't get very far at all
no, not even down passed the bar and all
when he was smashed by a car--
rims, tires, and all.

I.   Warning

A boundary of warning issued premature
to a lad settled on adventure
will plant definition in a red
corruption code of ketchup on a
post-picnic bib orphaned to the wind
like a fictional friend's home continent's flag

The vision-fielding velocity of neighbours'
arrows augment the sleep-shearing flares
of the father's eyes in the centrifugal
bullseye of his boy's current-green nursery
so close to swelling wide as a planet
now a marble left behind in favour of
a shrunken moon's spheric promise
of an otherworldly adventure

II.   Island

Subservient to boundaries of none but its own
the loner of landmass nurses its nautical mischief
through the employment of sensual labour in darkness
sizing them up to encompass a knowing glow
for the enigmas of bare-faced daylight

The premature thirst for adventure
attended to by the drink of sanctuary
poured from the skew of its welcome-mat shore

III.   Neighbours

Game and Disappearance serve
the Monarchy of Volume under code names
of Hide and Seek undertaking missions in the name
of circumstantial viceroys: decibels
scanning search parties through the x-ray of silent night
for the orchestration of the morn

Tweeting birds equate an army horn
rainbowing the insurgent black sky
with adventures in crusade-recital grooming

An airy beach of reeds is looming
in the coastal fog bracing to embrace
the route taken on the faith of melodic compass

IV.   Discovery

No labourer of mortal being beats the sun
out of bed not even the little one
succumbed to slumber in the bony shadow
of the instrumentally inscrutable contestant
to the claim of composition by his
solar brother's sacred nursery rhyme
insuring the rest and energetic rise of time

This adventure-hearted child heard no battle cry
in what the rivals of his bearded babysitter
dubbed The Sound Of Panic
just the anthem of a little conqueror beneath
a bucky smile of approval on the heels
of a swim befitting of an older lad but not
the aura of exhaustion conquering
the eyes of a goal imagined and achieved
and the smiling gratitude duet in return
from the dutiful and loving neighbours
lulled to their reunion reed field
in anticipation of a father's target met
with a son's accuracy in tow

11 26 11

The only road left is
A lonely rogue leftist
Still cast as the shadow,
The villain,
The foil
The salt in the wound
Seeping into
The soil
To render the once arable
An unbearable
Barren wasteland
Sleight of hand-
Written parable
Barely still stand
For a national anthem
Would rather invade
All your mansions
And ransom
The sycophants’
Cancerous
Cancel campaign
Can’t explain
The disdain
For disparity’s reign
And still stained
In its tainted
And vitiated
Lizard brain
Becomes colder
And more calculated  
A numbers game
All I will pay to play
These days
The rest is just
Lack of success
Instant replays

[ A young man and woman married under a street lamp during a snowstorm]


             Such wintry presents is incandescence, flakes shooting through magnificent lamp's orange glow, such a beauty contestant is my love spotlighted below,
white wedding lace is her hair that intercepts crystal snow.  I am her groom tall in suit dressed in drifting bank's dark soak.
     Those flakes incandescing, starting west then darting east, finally on her hair are resting, in that orange incandescence, give foot prints no longer lone .
      And night chimes of metal creaking signs, remind of just her and  I, and that is more than fine. For when weather vanes act insane, in that lonely night snow, and my prints are lone, she is near my heart staring up while standing on my toes.

So wonderfully lonely when the streets are dead,
under street lamps glow much magnificent,
Her snow flake lashes night sky has sent,
Our sole footprints in globes lonely presence,
Watching night snow turn incandescent.

(20 minute poetry)

This day,
what day?
Monday
that day!

On my way,
the pilgrimage to
work,
It is a sacrifice
which I make
five days a week

and two days shall I rest
one more than God,
quite odd
considering we think
that he knew best
or am I mistaken?

If the proof is in the pudding
'let them eat cake'

we need no validation
for this is
occupation
an occupation,
the formulation of a man.

I wear my armour like
a decongestant,
am I not a contestant
sitting out the race?
spitting in the face of
evolution.

and who cares who wins
anyway?


(Wrote this on the way to work and promptly forgot I had) Doh.

as i looked at the mirror
i asked who are you?
nothing replied
it’s just me
too different
i can’t remember
the times where i recognize myself
i put on too much
mask for everyone
i kept listening to the same old music
i opened a door in my mind
cameras are flashing
on my eyes
i didn’t find someone
i just found myself
alone in darkness
where i could feel
everyone is watching
expecting me to create fire
when i only breathe ice
i thought if i pretended
that i was not a fool
and get up to
their expectations
i would be happy
but i didn’t i just caused
the real me to be lost
in paradise of hell
where the crowd is the judge
and you’re a contestant,
but they didn’t know
fools eventually
change the
world

I want to be a father, that is strange coming from a 19 year old college student.
No not just to get laid or get the girl.
I want to teach my son the world.

I want to teach him that Laughter is the best medicine
I want him to prescribe a large dosage to all of the people who are down in the dumps,

I want him to call all of the girls pretty
Because it doesn't matter how much war paint they paint on their face.
No matter how many guys told her she is ugly,
She is still that princess that is sitting on that ivory tower and
She needs that prince charming to sweep her off her feet.
And when he finds the love of his life I want him to say,
”come on down you are the only contestant in my price is right.”

I want to teach him that Chivalry isn't dead
I want to teach him that politeness isn’t dead like Elvis
dead like retro disco and that one guy from Clue
I want him to know that nice guys don’t finish last
I want him to open all of the doors and always say please and thank you because politeness is the bandage over our gaping emotional wounds left by the people who lost their insecurities in their own dusty attics.

I want to teach him that imagination is the best tool
No no wait it is the ONLY tool
I want him to know that Calvin and  Hobbes does exist
I want him to know that when he is not around,
His toys become alive and have a thriving hidden city underneath his bed.
I want him to fight the monsters in his closet while reciting Beowulf .
I want him to know that its okay to be scared
I want him to explore the dark caves in the basement and to defeat that evil dragon that rest there.
Many of you call it a furnace, but is a dragon alright?
I want to read him bedtime stories so we can fly off to our imagination fighting epic thunder storms trying to find that perfect catch.

I want to teach him the good stuff,not math or science
but ethics, politics, history, and literature
I want him to know that its okay to be fearful of the unknown
and that Ignorance is the poison to our minds

I want to make recite Hamlet or Twelfth Night, so when people are all talking trash he can say “don't make me go Shakespeare on your ***.” and for those people who stand in his way.
I must warn them that his bruises will fade and his cuts will  heal but he tells you next will never leave your heart and will haunt you for the rest of his life. So go ahead call him names, see what happens.

I want to teach him to be passionate
I want to teach him that if anyone comes up to him and tells him that he can't do what he wants. I want him to bite his thumb and say listen buddy just wait before you know it I'll be the one who will be writing  my name on the wall of glory.

Now I know I am far from perfect, and I know he will be too, but I want to teach him that this world can be perfect, if you open up your mind and heart.

I had forgotten all the bonus feelings that came with true hope
Giddy like a teenage girl going on her first date
Happy like a kid catching the ice cream truck
Excited like a toddler at Disneyland for the first time

I had tried to forget all the downfalls that came with true hope
Fear like a child trying to sleep in the dark
Anticipation like a pageant contestant waiting to hear the
judge's decision
Anxiety like a politician on election night

I've had hope where the results far exceeded my
wildest imagination so that the words to describe it
didn't exist
Hope that was smashed like a bored little boy jumping
on an empty can
Hope that shriveled up and blew away like a
tumbleweed in the desert

And hope came and went again

The light is not a threat
it's a dare,
and every second you're behind the yellow line
the more there is at stake.

It's like wearing a seat belt
and closing your eyes
allowing tire to connect to yellow line
that leads to the sky,
if you're lucky.

Taking a cat nap in a coffin,
unconcerned yellow eyes of your past life
opening to the sight of
your own exorcism.

Changing stop lights
manipulate the colors
behind your stained glass pseudo christ,
highlighting the features every yellow-belly loves best.

Girls standing on street corners
******* themselves out for their yellow haired congressmen,
only to satisfy their oral fixation
on the more handsome opponent.

Passing the **** to the next contestant,
sadistically watching
as they choke,
mimicking the yellow glow of the sun.

The manila folder
that stores your secrets.
Yellow nails dig into skin
knowing you will never be forgiven.

No blinding light only the wariness
of the daily fracture
Croydon how I wish it was goodbye
you lost your voice  a long time ago.
I  remember how our played  out rendezvous
stripped away the pretense
I have often thought of candle light as a masquerade
flickering like a contestant
and the only cure is the drifting Coombe Woods
where I  can hide under those autumnal leaves,
finally letting it go.











.

good-luck with marriage!

   well, i won't be the one,
   a conformist,
   can't be bothered,
   well no, i can't be bothered,
   m.t.v. turned into
   16 year old pregnancies,
   **** **** a closer inspection
   of queen,
   that won't happen...
   there's no utopia here,
   but what comes from being unloved -

'good-luck with marriage!'

    i asked i got a reply with arsenic...
    well, if a diet is a diet,
    we might as well be hopeful...
    jealous lovers and the incomprehensibility
    of certain people not ever having
    engaged in a life that might provide them...
    tonne of **** with a touché!
    as a vet a rubber gloved hand up to the elbow
    to check a bull's prostate via his **** hole...
    i'd quote feminism, but i might as well
    quote Ezra's lunatic judgement correct
    against Churchill in defence of Mussolini...
    western democracy's narcissism hit me too...
    the constant need to export and never import...
    the constant need for traitors to upkeep
    a contestant populace rather than a populace
    of worthy voters... it was always there...
    so many sacrifices attached to a political
    movement were never worth it,
    the least sacrificial politics always produced
    the most successful endeavours with china
    and india... just those economic gluttons
    and continual iconoclasm with dyslexia as proof...
    how hope of heaven was never encoded in
    images of sounds and kept therein -
    i stead dyslexia, laziness of the communicative
    angle, to keep heaven forlorn with stressed
    images as a laziness to forget the aesthetic of spelling
    a wording... oh well...

good luck with marriage!

Number one
Smelled of Marc Jacob's cologne from Kohls
And he tasted like the cigarettes he never smoked.

Number two
Smelled of alcohol,
Tasted like alcohol.
**** Everything and Run.

Number three
Smelled like home
And tasted like fleeing dreams.

I'll take
Contestant number three.
**** Everything
And Run with me.

it's always on me
waiting for my neck to snap
my blood to poison
all the cells to die
the white lighter is always in my pocket
to light my fix
fuel my flame
am i worthy enough to be the next contestant on the 27 list?

I am fat and I know I will die soon but I also know that I will come back to life in Adelaide or the USA in an expensive apartment over looking the sea
You see I would like to play footy or appear in the Movies
Or go onto the Disney channel
To be a really cool kid
I could be a nickelodeon kid
That wouldn't be bad at all
Because I was an adult trying to be a kid
I want to go to acting school
To learn how to popular
I would like to play for Norwood or Glenelg and I would keep fit every day
All that I care is that I reincarnate into someone I would like to be
Not a fat man not a disabled man not a poor man
I suffered too much like that
Mind you I would like to help the poor but not as a poor man
I would like to be famous and help the poor by donating to charities around the world by being a contestant on a celebrity version of a game show
I don't want to be a man who is ready for a fight
I don't **** people off for that
I just want to live my life and come back to life as someone more famous than I am
So I can afford to go to the dentist and I can afford to go around the world on a cruise ship performing music to keep the people on the ship entertained
You see I would like to perform in a musical where I can have a lot of fun
You see I can't get rid of my flabby gut
So I can do all that in my next life and I will get a next life
I just know it

He made an expression he did not feel
And pretended he had no gashes to heal
For one of the three had to be sane
And pretend to not feel pain

He displayed emotions he did not know
He did not subject and went with the wind’s blow
He had plentiful to say
But he kept his judgments gray

The slyest are the most broken
The silent are the well spoken
He recognized it all too well
And so, his ego could not swell

The sun had set long ago
And the melancholy moon was the only glow
The only nimble of hope
The only entity keeping them on a durable rope

He was the only contestant left in fate’s game
And was the set aim
He had his cards lay out
Though even the wisest had their doubts

Would he live?
Would he thrive?
Or would he drive himself mad?
And give up faking to be not glad

They say you cannot change the past
Though he knew he would not last
If he were to dwell in his secrets long
He just needed to hear a song

The lullaby of a songbird would bring
The justice of a king
And the game of fate
Would soon be set straight

For it is the story we have all heard but never learnt
The one where friendly rivalry burnt
Two pits of gold
One bad, one bold

A path lit leads the way
Choose wrong and your loved ones shall pay
So choose your fate’s date
Tick tock, it’s getting late