Where The Mountains Meet The Sky

Where the Mountains Meet the Sky

Where the mountains meet the sky

On a cold December night

Is where my spirit met your eyes.

A tale as old as time,

A story told so many times,

I don’t know which parts are true and which are lies.

All I know is that you grabbed me,

And I couldn’t fight your gravity,

And you said you were meant for me,

But written in the stars, I see

That we were never meant to be

And terror was our destiny.

But soon I was addicted to the pain

That came from your embrace.

You filled my cup with poison,

And I still ate from your dinner plate.

I tried to play your twisted games;

You tried to make my spirit break.

There’s just one thing I can’t contend with:

Would I still be twisting in your rapids

If you hadn’t cut me from your cast net?

Rapunzel Still Weeps

Rapunzel still weeps for her foreboding tower.

She still misses the vines that flowered

Up the sides of those stones, a beacon of hope

Outside the barren walls that felt like home.

There’s freedom in a cell, and comfort in a cage.

The windowsill where birds show up to sing becomes your stage.

Out here, where the sun’s too bright,

And the air’s too pure to breathe right,

She clings to memories of wanting.

In liberty, she finds herself always running

From ghosts and goblins and thieves

Trying their best to ransack her peace.

At night, she dreams of days spent searching for light

And waiting for saviors and heroic knights,

While poisons from Gothel permeate her heart,

And curses of evil witches echo in her art.

Rapunzel escaped from her foreboding tower.

Now she struggles with the shackles of freedom’s power.

She’s in Too Deep

She’s in too deep,

Living in a fantasy,

She’s getting carried away and wandering astray,

While searching for the truth in a world of masquerade.

She sits all alone and tries not to suffocate

On the waves of the emotions she’s trying to keep at bay.

And the clouds get darker as she falls through space.

She’s a foreigner,

New to this unholy earth,

Scars still burning from the battles in her mind

With demons so intertwined with the story of her life,

She can’t leave them behind.

She’s stuck on the day she crashed into the grime

Because the stars she was charting misaligned.

She’s a secret spy,

A quiet observer of life.

She’s been waiting for the day when the world would know her face,

Praying for a chance to make her great escape,

Looking for a love to bridge the gap in space.

Tired of chasing stars when all their lights just seem to fade,

She’s waiting for destiny to call out her name.

In the Light of Domesticated Boredom

When the Titans created Man, there were no gifts left to give him. So, Prometheus, in pity, offered all he could find: the knowledge and wisdom of the gods and stolen fire. Man sat in the light of this fire, watching the shadows it casted on the walls, and thought he saw the truth of who he was: a heavenly soul shackled by the limitations of this world, a godlike mind trapped in the body of a mortal beast.

Although he had no sharp teeth, no strong muscles, no gift of flight or speed, he sought superiority over the creatures created before him, for surely, he had received the greatest gifts of all from the gods above. With fresh vigor, he jumped up and set out at once to conquer the land, to use his gifts to make living in this wilderness as easy as he could for himself. Using his wits and his fire, he produced the greatest and the worst of inventions.

In the new world he created, separate and unrecognizable from the wilderness he came from, Man now sat in domesticated boredom. So, he turned his dominating spirit towards testing the limitations of his own body. He started with sport: how high could he jump? How fast could he run? Restless still, he turned to greater exploitations: how little could he sleep? How hard could he work before he collapsed?

Sitting in the light of his incandescent bulb, Man finally saw the truth of who he really was: a heavenly soul shackled by the limitations of this world, a godlike mind trapped in the body of a mortal beast, commissioned by the capricious gods, along with all the earth’s creatures, to simply inhabit the natural world for their delight.

The Effigy of Perfection

Perfection’s a preposterous goal,

A girl made of stone –

Too green for this world –

Thrust onto a base with no support,

All alone.

Dodging the jabs of her ever-unsatisfied sculptors,

She chisels away at herself on her own

With innocuous hands that don’t know

The intricacies of her place in the world.

There she goes,

Desperately chipping away at her woes,

Leaving her armature wire exposed,

Until all she has left is her heart of stone,

Still blazing from the kiln in the throes

Of sorrow.

The Longevity of a Spark

A man sat at his workbench, devoid of ideas.

That’s when a fairy with blue hair appeared.

With the wave of her wand, this muse gave him the spark

That only ignites in a true artist’s heart.

What he couldn’t have foreseen would soon overwhelm him.

The world fell in love with his brilliant creation.

His brainchild now hungered for worldly indulgence

And set out to meet the public’s endearment.

Alone in his cottage, the man kept creating, but

Nothing outshined his grand magnum opus.

He sat counting the stars through his window one night,

And pondered the life span of such fleeting lights.

For what wonderment can a spark truly bring

If its radiance lasts longer than a blink?