Ifs and Buts

My greatest advisors
through a lonely childhood
have always been books,
but now I find their ideals
have too many exceptions.

The Lost Princess

An empty rhythm
In the castle in the sky
A waltz echoes through deserted halls
The foundation crumbles stone by stone
She who was the princess
Dances alone
Rapunzel-length tresses threaded silver
Sweep over deep indigo and turquoise tiles
No prince comes for her
Neither courtiers nor friends
The music is mummified in her mournful tread

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