Stories
When I was young I heard the tales
Of maidens fair and princes true,
And as I grew I loved the tales,
Believed them through and through.
I’d spin and dream in castles tall,
With magic on the air,
Morality was stout brick walls,
And happy endings there.
An older girl, I’d still believe
In heroes good and witches cruel,
Until one day, that day I’d leave
My path through the dark words.
Through bramble and bush I tarried and strayed,
‘Til stories lost all meaning.
And off the path my life was made,
Left with a peculiar feeling.
For in that wood, no hero came,
No magic rushed to save me,
In the dark my life was changed,
I learned to trust no stories.
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