The story ends; but the days and nights continue,
each one with its little weight of life, like a fall of dust.
The beautiful princess grows older and more shrewish,
The handsome prince gets a beergut and stays out late.
The castle sold for corporate headquarters,
Exchanged for a fitted bathroom suite, and a parking space;
The mice are trapped, the pumpkin stewed for dinner,
The gold-spun hay spent on parties and trips abroad.
The reader stops; but there is no resolution,
propelled by the heavy hands of clocks they have stumbled on.
The speaking mirror names each wrinkle on her features,
relates the growth of his bald spot each passing week.
They quarrel nights, then go to bed in silence,
Make love less and less often now, and with empty hearts;
The bills come in, the windowframes need painting,
the magic fades, all its colours worn pale by time.
The moral choice was made once and made correctly,
but now must be made again each week, with no magic aid.
The wearisome repeats of life's little dilemmas
Turn victories to ashes and strong men to drink.
The book is shut, but each life drags on regardless,
grey hours drown the palaces in sand, and rot through the silks,
And would they bother, if they lived life over ?
If they could know what comes after the happy end ?
Created with Sseyo Koan X Platinum for the AWE 64 soundcard. All intellectual rights in these compositions remain the property of Paul Blake.