Pardon

That pile of dried bones

Resting under dust and stones

Is what you will find

When you dig under your throne

That one of a kind

Is just in your mind

You are mostly alone

Just left behind

The coronation seems

Distant light dimmed

The fire no longer shine

Only shadows of dreams

You have chosen this path

You have dreamed it alone

Don't expect old bones

To wake from their death

Don't talk to stones

Wear alone the wreath

Had the journey been an easy one

the mighty blow might saved a breath

Unforgiven

At times when fail

Is your only grail

And you hopeful gaze

At indifferent eyes

The same old

dusty question is:

Why?

You weren't an angel

to even start

Wings only an imaginary

dream upon a star

No, there is no hail

I am sorry honey

Not even you will self bail

JACK

How dare you confine me in your insignificant box

she gazes at the image meticulously created on the fancy hand mirror

and applies the gloss with the determination of one who loads a gun

the piercing stilettos hit the floor echoing on the hallways passed

insidious prolepsis of places yet to be

She knows the fight is vain

She knows peace in acceptance

and still on her veins the very essence of a warrior

drives her forward

in constant acceleration

burning the mileages of a limited existence

She knows statistically it will be fate

But if...

Just if.

That lingering little thread of hope

that Michelangelo's David will complete the mighty touch