Its all a farce

a sugar coated

watermelon flavored

giant jawbreaker lie

our masks and movements

static and stupid

trying to weave

webs of gold

always doing what we are told

guided by some moral loyal compass

when your own father

would whore your to the king

on a white whale

bought

before you ever went on sale

just a commoner

spinning stories

offering up

his own daughters head

instead of his own

there are days

he thought he himself was king

only to offer his kin

for his fabrication

he wasn’t counting on a miracle

to save him

never investing much

in salvation

sometimes strange daughters

spin gold

as the story is told

and a common girl

can become queen

but it is rarely seen

the cost is cautionary

and obscene

when the dream

was a wicked nightmare

and the first born

is promised to the midnight

dwarf creature

who gave you

your queen like features

the act of hubris

is almost humorous

to us on the outside

but their is one way

to keep your pride

if you can guess

who I am

and what I do

“To-day do I bake, to-morrow I brew,

The day after that the queen’s child comes in;

And oh! I am glad that nobody knew

That the name I am called is Rumpelstiltskin

to live without sin

and satisfy the soul

on the razors edge

with no self control

you cant fill the hole

with imaginary dirt

you cant cash in

on what has no worth

we can not begin again

there is no mulligan

just our mistakes

and what we take

that makes

out guessing games

less of a game of chance

but a game of skill

where the objective is

to kill

pride and ego

how far do we go

to let go

and let the webs of gold

drown us

in our own passions