• The floor has fallen through,
    and now the walls are ebbing.
    The roof is no more in this place,
    Or were these ever real?
    I fear naught;
    All these fairytales can’t be true:
    shows of grandeur and lies,
    are intertwined with beliefs
    so rooted in minds that close
    to all other words in the world.

    And if these verses are bad,
    will you stone me as well?
    I’d rather left for dead
    than hang my head among owls,
    whose moans and cries and tears
    of such whimsical fury
    and folly, fruitless measures.
    will surely be their timeless end.

    No, we’ll turn my verses to demons.
    and let them soar among the birds
    stealing prey and friend alike
    simply to consume, only to consume
    without rhyme or reason
    only kept in an imperfect time.
    But surely my demons will value
    all the glories they have swallowed
    Surely they will remember
    these verses that made them whole

    So smiles will return to us.
    and you and I, we’ll find paths again.
    Cut from blood and littered earth
    but roads less traveled still.