They can go to hell
With their ÒHappily Ever AftersÓ
And their endless repetitions of One True Love.
Worse than a lie
ItÕs a poisoned apple so shiny and lovely
That will choke you and leave you cold encased in glass.
The reality is that all Love is True
Or no Love is.
The glass slipper will shatter and slice
Your tender feet until you cannot take a step.
But in the field where your hands callus from the plow
The corn grows and falls in harvest.
Never forever
ButÉ
The reality nourishes in a way
That no gingerbread house ever could.
© 2007, Noël Lynne Figart