So is the end of another Valentine’s Day,
all the confetti’s been vacuumed away.
Cards now stored neatly in a special drawer.
Dying flowers are thinned till there are no more.
The romantic dinner’s now just a memory.
The dessert was great but sure wasn’t free.
There are two candies left no one will eat,
one’s missing a bite and the other’s no treat.
Her dress was stained from wine I spilled.
The rest of the night I thought I’d be killed.
We woke the next morning and she’s still peeved.
But I’m still alive, so I was relieved.
I tried to kiss her and she yelled “go away!”
Then she went off about ruining her day.
The whole event gave me a terrible scare.
But all’s good now cos it was just a nightmare.
A story’s brewing; it’s felt in my heart.
Yet I’ve to find the end, middle or start.
I think it’s close but it could be far.
The damage done and left a scar.
The image is blurry and makes no sense.
I’m hangin’ out with a guy named Pence.
We’re trapped in a cell with fancy drapes.
There are no cigarettes but everyone vapes.
Our lofty guard is seven feet tall.
He brings us bread and that is all.
P’s is white and mine is wheat.
But we don’t mind, it’s something to eat.
P tells stories of his glorious time.
I write fast and make it all rhyme.
He worked for a king, second in charge.
His duties were light but his paycheck large.
The lights go out at ten o’clock.
The guards go home and we all rock.
Music starts jammin’ in a cell nearby.
The place gets smoky and we all get high.
Our eyes grow heavy then we all dream.
We awake at sunrise to coffee with cream.
The king too presides in a cell downstairs.
It’s dark and damp but no one cares.
The king has a wife he no longer sees.
She crawled off to Russia on her hands and knees.
Though his kids live here, their just down the hall.
They all got snatched while attending a ball.
Now tuxedo’s in tatters and gown’s a mess,
the truth was clear, no need to confess.
So maybe this story’s no story at all.
It may be a nightmare, I can’t recall.
Though being in jail I wasn’t keen.
But comfort is felt when the future’s seen.
I did get released, no word of the rest.
And all ends well, their silence being best.
Shake me please, I can not wake.
Mind’s exhausted, rest I ache.
Nightmares consume the hours long.
Alarms blare with every song.
A love taken another lost,
spirits dictate, sheets tossed.
Days dark by night I mourn.
Time shared now heart’s torn.
Dreams of tomorrow gone in a blink,
eyes shut I fear to think.
Shake me please, I can not wake.
Yesterday’s choke each breath I take.
Century’s lost beneath a frigid sea.
A mystery shrouded from you and me.
One hundred years till the darkest of night.
A body shall be risen once gone from sight.
Subjects none, she’s a queen alone.
An island rests till her desire’s grown.
She’ll rise from the mist in fur, feather and scale.
Cloaked of face, she’s lovely beyond the pale.
Her quest is simple; to attain her reflection,
caught from a soul’s image of loves perfection.
Her call is silent, her essence shines through.
Once chosen, there’s none you can do.
Her attraction’s permanent, like flies on sweets.
And entice she does with her anticipated treats.
From a dream plucked, it’s her prey of late.
In a line they’ll stand with surety of fate.
Then only she will choose.
Who’ll be the winner this time to lose.
The others left bereft of heart.
Free for now to long another start.
The queen now quenched returns to her bed.
Her emptiness filled, rube’s again shed.
And the rest of us wonder of the tales that be.
Or am I to flounder in a flash of the sea?
*In Brigadoon all roads lead to the future.*
Dreaming of the future always looks bright.
Nightmares of tomorrows haunt most every night.
Memories of the past guide us every day.
Plans for the now slowly slip away.
Time’s unpredictable, every second’s new.
Unknowns are less freighting when life’s shared by two.
Titans rise from mounds of trash.
Soon is seen the survivalist stash.
A garbage economy flush in dirty cash.
The mind’s to waste, throats to slash.
Industries shuttered and our cities ablaze.
Fields untilled, nil remains to graze.
Warmth reeks, skies awash in the haze.
All’s left to dream of those good old days.