Posts Tagged ‘End’

We are all shoved under the microscope.

We are each choked by leashes of wire.

We’ve spent years within stores,

at garage sales, perusing someone else’s memories,

because what we have isn’t good enough.

In the end, the “good citizens” are the ones that don’t acknowledge the surveillance.

In the end, the ones that speak up

cause change.

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You were told:

though the Path may twist and bend,

stick to it to receive Happy Ever After.

Now the Woods have cleared, the tunnel opened;

you’re at the last page, but must ask,

is this truly Journey’s End?

That’s the way all fairy tales end.

That’s the way they died-

happily.

 

Snow White and her Prince

outlasted the dwarves,

but went out

without growing old,

and smiling.

Both were already pale

as corpses.

They could simply have fallen asleep,

but who would kiss them awake?

 

Briar Rose died

leaving heirs.

Her husband passed

before she did. She never remarried.

She had raised a King and a Princess

with her own golden hair

and lark-like speech.

Neither one inherited their father’s

battle lust. So,

she was happy.

 

Cinderella lived in luxury,

she died in a bed of blue and white velvet,

which resembled the sea, knowing

her sisters had bled

from their feet, and their eye sockets

had become infected.

Her stepmother died

one year after she married the Prince.

Her reign with the Prince,

who became a king

after his father spewed one last breath

like a geyser,

went without war.

And when she lay in bed

her gold slippers were at its foot,

and she saw her fairy godmother

hovering over her with a halo around her face.

Her husband did not weep

as she passed- eyes shutting slowly,

clams closing on blue pearls-

he sang.

He sang a lovely little dirge

about birds and a tree

and rising up from the Earth

as if flying,

and Cinderella died

smiling,

happy.

By end of day we’ll be apart.

Our fingers and lips will slip away,

but you will linger in my heart,

and we shall meet again, another day.

At this moment

snow is falling,

coating spruce trees

in a down of crystals.

There shall be a time

when they fall with great age,

or are plucked from the earth

to make room for progress

and its silver cables.

There shall be a time

when the moon pulls off her mask

and becomes a droplet of blood-

the doom ruby, shining in the sky.

There shall be a time

when heaven spits upon the Earth,

and the creatures flee,

but Man is caught in the fire.

Until that time I will open my mouth,

let snowflakes fall in, an angel within each,

and taste my childhood.

Only in moments such as this,

when static speaks

more clearly to me than any words

or mellifluous sounds,

when tear tracks sting

from cold winter air,

sadness generates a volcano in my chest,

and each limb is distinct and separate-

every nerve hot cold, numb or electric,

do my cares not pass

and I feel a part

of something greater and infinite,

as if I am only partially in this world.

And only in those moments

do I feel unafraid, while closer

to the End.