Come and see,
as the sun sets in all of its glory to touch rays of waning light
upon a quiet hill of houses with the peace of doves
and a story like the stars,
to illuminate a window with shutters of purple and white smooth paint
and a tale of battle, life, dreams, and love.
See, that window,
in all of its purple and white,
carries a voice of golden notes that hang high upon the air
and float through the wind to space above.
They cross a masterpiece dipped in blurred pastels
of the setting sun that paints its way down across the sky
until the horizon claims its light and embellishes an image of purity
for the night to come.
They spin around the moon and its symphony of stars that waver to the notes
as they spiral away.
Oh beautiful voice, where is your owner?
in the window of an enchanting past,
a story of years ago speaks of a girl and a boy
who rose on waves of golden dreams.
Buried underneath layers of normalcy,
sat a suburban dream set so perfectly.
A house of picket fences, rosebushes, and a window of purple and white,
covered the pain of a premature fight.
A mother wallowed in a pit of denial
as the father and courts took to trial,
the poison of drugs
upon the life of the unfortunate birth
of a child, an angel, of so much worth.
So upon the broken ties of a family down in flames,
Aunt Gothel took to the winds of fear,
her dear Rapunzel who lay without blame
in a body breaking…
And if all those sterile walls
and all those machines,
could heal the sickness in her blood,
it would be an absolute dream.
But Earth is no place for an angel.
Away she went for years, to hide in an ivory house on the hill
with purple and white windows,
ignorant of the tears upon her pillow.
The shadows grew from the fear and still,
she was forced to stay there,
alone with her dreams of golden hair.
Swiftly, coursing through those rivers of gold,
locks upon locks of the most precious material,
hang silky smooth like all the stories told.
She skips in time to twist locks around fairytale princes and white horses.
Huge castles and skylining towers laid brick by brick upon all blue skies
set the scene of a perfect sun and a perfect land and a perfect girl.
Lock by lock, such idealism laid bare, she spins a tale of freedom.
Let this kingdom, set so high,
come down and ground those who feel all the pain of the world.
Take away the fear and take away the uncertainty.
Fight the tears and all the absurdity.
Leave with only golden dreams and all the white light of pearls.
Little prince, who seems to toss
all his life around without somewhere to go and always on the run,
travels with all the care of one who has experienced little loss,
so true, let him see purple hues,
mixed with white and gold from a setting sun.
For a girl lays with her head held bare
and sings with fragile notes that speak of dreams.
escape from the privileged who will rarely recognize such an outcast
and resist the feelings of something like trash.
as sidewalk trains rumble down strips of fading colors
and disappear into that sun of white and gold.
that myth of himself and hold his destiny within his hands
as he looks up and sees streams
of golden dreams,
that fall down upon the boy who finally understands.
So upon those fragile threads, he climbs
to weave his way up to her.
Against a sun of warmth and radiance,
as stars thrummed with song and the moon encaptured everlasting pictures,
as human as he was,
and as human as she was,
they both found love.
And as she learned to forget her worries
and create her own story,
he learned how to dream.
As it seems,
the silky waves of amelioration
crashed with hopes beyond all expectation and
here on Earth,
they found their worth.
For the fear of the curses and the unknown outside,
or the pain of having to hide,
no matter the cause and no matter the reasons,
it is not living.
But always in life, there is something to sacrifice.
Earth is no place for an angel, even one as human as her.
that as the stars finished their final songs in harmony
and the moon sang its last goodbye in its timely descent,
the sun was sent,
over upon the horizon of frozen colors,
to peek out at the strangely silent window
Such stillness in a mirage of white.
A pale and frail girl with no hair,
with a terrible sickness in her blood,
into a glowing woman of the afterlife.
But there is no fear,
as the sun that rises upon a new day
will always shine with new light.
The stars, in all their full power, create sonatas with the moon
the voice that speaks of dreams,
longs for a lost love caught beyond the clouds and far, far away.
For as much as life took from appearance,
it failed to dull a memory kept sharp with a golden past
even as the inner workings of a celestial power,
cuts and ties the final thread.
A young boy,
in the body of an old man,
chases that nostalgic dream turned anew
upon white light of the finished tapestry of this story of dreams.
And upon the needlepoint of fate,
waits Rapunzel with her hair of golden dreams and her Prince without fear
as they fade softly into light.