I stepped to the bar, and he looked at me,
A rag in hand, a smile for free,
I asked if he knew how to make any drink in the world,
He nodded, and said he’d give anything a whirl.
The king stood gleaming in his obsidian armour, staring down at his men-at-arms as they arrayed themselves in rows in front of him. Their black armour gleamed in the light, and they stood ready, quiet, poised to attack the enemy at his command. His other men stood to either side of him, the only sounds, the snorting of horses, or the creaking of the siege engines.
Death is in my makeup,
Poison in my veins.
Failure lurks with every touch,
And pain beneath my wings.
Step by step,
Hand in hand,
Across the floor.
I look into your eyes
What do I see?
Acceptance, of who I am,
Knowing what I am,
Yet giving, accepting.
Tears are falling.
Drip by drip,
She smiled at him, and reached her hands across the table. He smiled back, reaching over to hold her hands tightly, never wanting to let go.
“There’s a dragon in the attic.” The son comes up to the father and announces it seriously one day.
Hard as hard
I have a confession to make.
I am not worthy of love.