So at the Gates stood Conor
Awaiting his newest best friend.
Faye joined him eager yet sore confused,
This was no one’s idea of a good end
She’ll never be seven
She plays now in Heaven
And our tears yields no answers
To the never answered Oh God, Why?
Why did that thirty-something
Lose contact with his humanity?
Just playing outside in her front yard
These things are always so damn hard
Are we all so willfully and totally blind?
Is this some new flavor of miswrought insanity?
Our ocean awash in pain and despair—
There’s no satisfying answer, ever, anywhere.
Bad parenting, bullying, party drugs?
A chromosome split and expressed wrong?
Just why can’t this stop, just…please…stop!
Do we just let this go and let Pain chase erelong?
Faye and Conor skip off into the sunset,
We here, head in hands, perplexed and twisted.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Faye, and to you who still love;
While our tears coalesce with a countenance sorely misted.
Sally Gossamer Wingstep Met Marcus V. Featherstone
Attending the Queen’s Annual High Tea
The danced and talked and walked together
In the warm manner of increasing complementarity
A touch of highlight crimson rose
Colouring the tips of Sally’s forewings
Soon she found she had forgotten
To share the gist of many amazing things
Marcus managed to hide his stammer
Girls! Curiously an ever-haunting mystery
Together they had soon discovered
A sharing in fairiekynd’s land and winged history
The Queen rose, oh so soon!
The High Tea was now at its end
Sally and Marcus bade the other their adieus
Dwelling in the warmth that such a meeting did attend
Oh yes, sleep would elude them
A shared dream now a waking reality
But where to end this little story
Of a love lacking in any signs of finality
Would you grant this poet reprieve for this his crime:
Who makes his adieu abandoning you with there’ll be more in time?