Fairy tales of yore, is what we are,

Colored according to our calling cards,

Recognized by our clothes,

The role, decided by the heavens,

Weaved in, weaved out, of the surface of reality,

Family, maybe in a way,

All connected, through this, through that,

For stories,

Spread outwards,

Away from here.

Aways from here,

There lives a white rabbit,

There lives an old witch,

There lives Aros the War God,

There lives the blueberry faery,

The investigator,

Pan the satyr,

The 40 Cent Virgin,

And little red riding hood,

My sister lives there too,

Asmodian the guard,

The four star general.

Old stories, Long stories, worthy of respect, intertwined, weaved in and out, hopeful stories.

Often pleading, often leading, often pushing us onwards, a love story,

Contracts in the sand, lining the pathways,

The machine, always operating,

Working, tirelessly,

Burdened, and heavy,

Weaved in and out,

Growing, god characters, like garden fruit,

Maybe you’ll see them once in a while, and you’ll recognize, the price of following,

Maybe you’ll understand your worth.

What is a fairytale?