Saturday, March 28, 2015

Killing the Prince

This post was inspired by the blog "The Splendor Falls on Castle Walls". ( ) She is running a month writer's challenge called Quote Quest. This is the story I wrote for her first prompt. 

“So why would someone want to kill the prince? I mean, a prince of any kind? The prince isn’t king so if you befriend him you could get him to do what you want when he did become king. That way the kingdom wouldn’t be in chaos for the lack on a heir. Really that is better planning, for everyone.” 

“But what if the befriending process failed? Then what?”

“That won’t happen though. Who wouldn’t want to be my friend?”

“Well I think you could probably answer that question on your own, right? Considering the fact that this conversation is completely between you, yourself, and you”

“Yeah, that’s right, I don’t have any friends... I wonder why?”

“Let’s just think about that. You are known for hanging around the palace guards for no particular reason, you like to bite your nails when you think no one is watching, and you are a bit odd since you are the only full grown man in the kingdom who can’t grow a beard.” 

“Yeah, as usual, you are right.”

“Of course, I’m always right.”

“So I guess we get to abandon ‘operation befriend the prince.’”

“You got it.”

“How come you are such a wise person?”

“Probably you think that because I am you.” 


“Okay, so we aren’t going to befriend the prince and we already said killing him would only put the kingdom in chaos. What if we wait to see if the queen will have another child?”

“In that case we would have some time to come up with a better plan. Besides, we already determined yesterday that it is too early in our planning for simply killing the prince.” 

Friday, March 13, 2015

Color of Innocence

White is the blissful, beautiful color of innocence. 
Things untouched, undefiled, unscarred, boast this radiance. 
Clear and spotless flower, white is the bride. 
An empty canvass awaiting life’s brush. 

Things untouched, undefiled, unscarred, boast this radiance. 
Blank pages pose before the author. 
An empty canvass awaiting live’s brush. 
Softly add color, pure color, never harsh or broken. 

Blank pages pose before the author.
Take up the brush, awaken the story. 
Softly add color, pure color, never harsh or broken. 
Tenderness will preserve purity. 

Take up the brush, awaken the story.
Tenderness will preserve purity.
Clear and spotless flower, white is the bride. 
White is the blissful, beautiful color of innocence. 

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Beautiful Even So

The day had been long, charged with fun.
They ran on the beach and bathed in the sun. 
Swimming from morning till late afternoon,
They observed an underwater world of rocks, coral, and dunes. 

The ocean crystal clear with sun-raise shining through,
Vibrant coral there on the submerged rocks grew. 
She felt encompassed by an underwater rainbow,
Fish every shade of color, blue, white, green, and yellow.

That evening, both dinner and dessert through,
Side by side on the deck, they surveyed the ocean anew.
This time in the shadows quietly, under the stars,
Overwhelmed by peaceful fatigue, the two had no cares. 

They leaned contentedly on the railing,
Discussing poetry, but kind of failing.
They could not decide if the trash in the ocean
Stole from it’s beauty like a sore demotion. 

In the dark the water lapped quietly below.
The two considered both sides, but did not know.
The items visible there did not add beauty,
But did they really bring with them a measure of cruelty? 

A new angle he began to consider.
Each submerged treasure she figured,
Has a story to tell concerning their labor of love. 
During the day those things were missed, unthought of.

Observing now what they had not recognized in the light,
They considered the ocean’s transformative aptitude by night. 
Taking broken glass it formed sea glass, sunken ships, now reef locations.
Each gained a fresh perspective, subsequent to considering those relations. 

The ocean was beautiful they could not deny.
They had swam in it all that day, and why,
If it were beautiful then would it cease to be now?
Each submerged story simply waits to share its vow.