Ever After

I do believe in fairy tales,
in happy ever afters,
at least for a while,
and perhaps not quite as bright
as Disney would paint them,

more Dali-esque, with life melting,
with demon armies and evil kings
torturing you in the dungeon,
not at all careful about the scars they leave
before the set you free, sure

your are eternally broken, no longer a threat,

And perhaps the castle is not a castle after all,
but a simple small house without garrets
and bright banners that float in the wind,
with faded paint and old windows
that let the winder air in like a welcome guest.

And the princess? A thorny rose,
wild and untamed that crawls up the trellis
and draws blood at every touch,
so far from perfect, yet somehow, perfect
for you

As you rise from your prison,
the mere act of your survival more powerful than the dark
truth of fairy tales, that happy ever after means
there is an after, a black painful place you cannot ignore
to get there.

About this poem

I love fairy tales. I do. I love Disney. I do. I love happy ever afters,
even if the path to them always runs through dark forests. Avoid the forest, and you never find the princess, slay the dragon or conquer the castle.

Tom