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

The Negative Mind

I have not yet crested over the hill
But the longest days have come
And the summer oppresses with a searing heat
I look for signs of withering winter
In every thirsting blade of glass
And find no joy in the hatchlings
With my own nest unlined and uninhabited
The dread of my imaginings hold me immobile
And paint a grotesque hydra beyond the apex
Instead of a pleasant valley of milk and honey