Daily Archives: August 5, 2011

The Grass Will Grow

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A shovel deep in stone,
hits bottom
then keeps going.
Tossed aside
the gravel and dirt,
delving deeper into the earth.

Placed in a box
with a tight-locked lid,
demons of another bid.
Forgotten.

Or–to be forgotten.

Passerby look me in the eyes,
and cocks his head to one side.
“Burying the past,”
I tell him.

He understands.

And in a few months,
grass will grow
to cover this new-leased

grave.

Okay, okay, last post of the day. I can’t help it, if I have inspiration, it has to go somewhere, and it just doesn’t seem right to lock it away in a notebook where I will be the only one to see it until I die. Poetry is meant to be seen, to be read, to be heard.

Simple explanation, the narrator is trying to get rid of her past. And in reality, this does work. If you have a particularly bad memory and an object from that moment, if you bury it, it really does give the impression of being more free. Just a thought.

Silly Prince (I Want a Knight)

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Silly Prince.

With a crown of rubies–
no, sapphires–
for you know I love them.
With golden locks
falling in front of your eyes.
Such eyes, such a blue
with a captivating gaze
and clouds of thought
stolen from distant skies.

Silly Prince.

Such is this,
in a world left so cold
that you might still
sit tight on your throne.
Silly Prince
my sweet love,
with a wandering smile
might you only ask once
what you own?

Silly Prince.

My heart.

Silly Prince,
let love be,
forget the con and the crown
and be yourself,
if only just for me.
Silly Prince,
don’t you see,
what I desire most
is to forget your
vow of chivalry.

I want a sword set ablaze,
poised to protect my heart
and destroy all who might stand in my path.
With a brandish so fearsome
yet a smile, still there
and behind warrior’s pose, your old laugh.

Silly Prince,
kill your wall.
Let me tear it to bricks
and shatter to dust
on the ground.
Let the wind pick it up
and throw it to the trees
and save yourself from
a life previously bound.

Silly Prince,
won’t you please,
just do one thing for me.
Give up your place on
your facade of a throne.
You are no real Prince,
not in this world or the like
and I’d rather have
a knight of my own.

Lay down your sword, may I tap your shoulders?
Dub you lord of the land and my heart.
Silly Prince, Strong, Kind Knight
pray we may never be apart.

In battle, in your wars
fighting limb for a limb,
stripped of all, and I’d fight in your place.
Darling Knight of my own,
who has forgotten his throne,
on steed and stallion, in my heart you will stay.

In every new relationship, there’s that honeymoon phase. You know the one. Head over heels for your partner, see no flaws. He is perfect, in your eyes (or she, if you’re male). It’s when that phase is over that you really see if the relationship is going to work or not.

Personally, I don’t like the honeymoon phase. It feels fake. But that’s just me. Now what do princes and knights have to do with the honeymoon phase? Well, the prince is the perfection. The poem is designed to portray the desire to switch from the honeymoon phase to the true relationship. It may seem like the narrator is asking her love to change, but in reality, all she wants is for him to stop thinking of her as perfect. It appears the other way around, being that he’s a prince, but he’s not supposed to represent love. The prince is the relationship itself. In the end, the narrator gets what she wants.

The Master in the Sky

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Her head holds high
on fish-line taut
with eyes that do not see.

Her arms to each side
never moving, not a motion;
everything is out of reach.

Her feet tread water,
splash clumsily in
but she cannot swim back to the shore.

Once, she was free
without puppet strings, or dark masters;
once, but forever nevermore.

As a kid, there is very little that is worse than being told no. As a teenager, I feel that the urge for independence is even greater. I cannot speak for the adult population, but I can speak from experience. I am a stubborn person. Tell me no, and I’ll do it. Tell me I can’t, and I’ll find a way. I have a bad habit of rebellion, to the point of lying, and cheating, and screaming, and fighting to get what I want. I guess I’m a little more than spoiled.

But what happens when you can’t get what you want? When all your life, you have been guided by the will of others. No control over any situation in your life. As I’ve already said in a previous post, I am petrified of losing control, so the idea of having my life planned out for me by someone else infuriates me.

And so, as an ode to all of the evil puppet masters of the world, and a song of sorrow to all of the puppets, I wrote this. At about two in the morning. While half asleep.