The Journey

This poem is a bit of a thematic sequel to my earlier poem "They Have No Answers."

If you’d kindly follow me through this wardrobe
the White Rabbit says
I’ll help you find your way back to Kansas

But to find Ithaca, you must first know where it is
the Cat informs me with a tip of its Hat
You must know which star on the right is the second

You’ll get no fairer by polishing your mirror, and your city will not unbottle itself
my friend tiger tells me
You're the only one who can destroy the ring

Just riddle me this, before you pull that sword from the stone
insists Tabaqui
Will Atlantis be the same if you raise it?

All of El Dorado’s wealth has long since been spent, and Themiscyra doesn’t want you back
Scheherazade whispers in my ear
So what kingdom are you thieving to save?

There is nowhere to build but up, and the towers you swing from have done what Babylon couldn’t
the second of the three spirits bellows
It’s a long walk from Xibalba to Valhalla, but your boulder will weigh less at the top

The Unknown

The scythe

the claws

the hockey mask

Do I even dare to ask?

That question we've all heard once before

What is lurking behind this door?

A shriek

a moan

a sound of terror

Will I make a fatal error?

Will the raven scream Nevermore

If I open this creaking door?

The ghost

the monster

the psychopath

Will I face its ghoulish wrath?

Shall I be turned to blood and gore

When I see what's beyond this ancient door?

A breath

a heartbeat

a trembling hand

Has my hourglass run out of sand?

With my feet firmly planted upon the weak wood floor

I turn the knob and I open the door...

The Masquerade

They danced and glided effortlessly about the room,
Anonymous specters of prophesied doom.
Their faceless faces,
Their nameless races,
Concealed from each other,
Concealed from themselves.

Their secrets and lies,
Their fake joyous cries,
Echoed by a black ceiling,
Back to those hearts so unfeeling.
Their disguises become identity,
They forget what they're hiding.

Their ball is so truthless
With their facade so ruthless,
Their eyes filled with hate
For a once normal state.
Their masks try to cover their normalcy,
But they slaughter all uniqueness.

A Poem Re-Done

This is a re-working of a free-verse poem I wrote down two-ish years ago, and thought the concept was interesting. So, I decided to improve on the execution.

A Short Poem

I'd write of a bubble, if not for the pop.
It's the splash that I fear, and so also the drop.
My wings stay grounded, for with flight comes landing.
I hate falling over, and so I'm not standing.
The lovely beginning seems not worth the end,
But the journey is worth it, if you have a friend.