Posts Tagged ‘song’

“You’re so nice.
You’re not good,
you’re not bad,
you’re just NICE.
I’m not good,
I’m not nice,
I’m just RIGHT.” ~The Witch, from “Last Midnight”

from “Into the Woods” by Stephen Sondheim.

This will thrill

like the sun, anxiety

of spring undoing

the old curse

of cold overstayed.

And the green pushes up,

unfurls like a map of stars,

and ribbed transparent stalactites

fall to shatter into

the earth. A new

song will flit over the hills.

When you enter,

you step into yourself

and confront all the things

that you’ve kept buried.

Green-brown spires 

with their limbs- gnarled like weeds-

cast shadows, block

out the sunlight-you must search for it.

The brown path is not worn,

the ground is cold, 

and singing seems pointless here,

because the wizened trees of your mind

will suck the joy out of the tune

and reduce your voice to a stammer.

 

Know

that there are more people 

than solely you in this forest.

All paths intertwine,

and people are never alone.

But be careful what you say

as you stumble through the woods;

you never know what innocent children

will hear your curses

from the thicket on the other side.

A Song Inspired by the works of Stephen Sondheim,

specifically “No One Is Alone” from “Into the Woods”

I’m all alone now

Nothing to speak to, but the air

Just ‘cause no one’s here now

doesn’t mean they don’t care

So why do I feel so lonely?

So empty and despaired?

Will things be okay?

Please, no one tell me that I’m wrong

Throughout all of next day

I have to appear strong

Is it wrong to feel this empty?

Is it wrong to be scared?

Where did I go wrong?

Pushing too hard, falling too fast

Was it doomed all along?

Why does the pain last?

It’s said that you’re never alone

Someone will take your side

My someones’ left me all alone

Don’t even have my pride

Will things be okay?

Please, someone, help me to be strong

Say “let the feelings stay”

Tell me I’m not wrong

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.

A song of penance I sing–

mercy, pity, before flames radiant glow,

prostrating instead of genuflecting–

pleading for a future I do not know.

 

Something in the small fire

relieves my apprehension.

Swaying like an eye-twinkle,

no sputter, no tension.

A letter

that shouldn’t have had

those things

written on it,

those venomous worms

of ink,

wriggling around: friend or

enemy, friend, enemy,

friendenemyfriendenemyfriendenemy.

Of course she had to stick her nose into this.

I can’t complain,

you can’t get away from her…

not yet. She is your mother after all.

A letter that shouldn’t have been sent.

Not with those words…

The song playing in my head

as I write this is

not yours:

“You always hurt

the ones you love,

the ones

you shouldn’t hurt at all…”

I wish you luck from afar.

Not with those words.

I’m not sure we’ll ever speak again…

not with those words.

Not with those words.