You walk into a room of suitors
chained together, walls so tight
and you alone can give them peace but
only one– today, tonight.
And they all yell, say, “Look at me!”
“The fairest king of far and wide!”
But you do not care of their looks,
you only care for what’s inside.
Though soon you see him, faded grey:
a ghost of time and stars above
but in cracked spines, pages you see
that now forgotten was once loved.
So you take home your legends cared
and read in flashlight, blankets drawn
’til you go back to author’s grave.
Though dead, the story’s never gone.