Fates Come In Threes

Fates Come in Threes

You’re sitting in a smoke-filled tent,

Bursting with the anticipation of the crowd around you.

Lights circling the arena land on three rings in the middle of the stage.

In the first, a young girl spins a long thread,

Her eyes wide with wonder and excitement,

And the audience shares in her joy and curiosity.

In the second ring, a woman measures the thread.

She carefully watches the joys and sorrows of life play out in the colors of the thread dancing and spinning in her hands,

And the audience is enraptured.

In the third and final ring, an old woman quickly cuts the thread

With no regard,

And the audience sits in solemn silence,

Their hearts full of melancholy nostalgia.

Even Galaxies Fade

I couldn’t find what I needed,

And you walked through life like a stray.

You took my hand and led me to

A place where we couldn’t stay.

But you didn’t know how to be there,

Closed your eyes and had nothing to say.

I held on too tight for a season,

Watched the skies up above turn gray.

Even lost boys and girls need a reason

When the darkness of the night fades away.

Pixie dust wears off, and all highs must fall,

And, alas, even galaxies fade.

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?

Here Lies the Dream

I took the blow

When I tired of this whole show.

I got lost in our faults,

And now all of my thoughts

Are running away from me, dear.

Was I crazy to think

We’d come back from the brink

And for better or worse

We would make this thing work

When you don’t see me standing here?

Should I just take your word

When we both don’t feel heard,

And we’re sick of the darkness?

Is this where we part?

They all say that the end is near.

Here lies the dream

That we’ve given our lives to feed

And the mourners don’t cry

So, we just say goodbye,

Turn and face all our deepest fears.

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.