INK

A pale skin so soft,

his hair a swampy blue,

eyes so obsidian black,

and heart of mercy askew.

We met, he shook my hand,

with bone and flesh of water,

a thick liquid full of hate

an arm that witnessed slaughter.

A beast and boy alike,

a dream so slowly scattered,

as cool and cold as ink.

and only solid when it mattered.

A rebel to the queen of hearts.

an amethyst sword on his side

to slash away the beasts of pain

and always have a place to hide.

His brother a mouse,

his sister a fairy

there’s times when he forgets,

only so much fantasy he can carry.

Lost in a world of regrets,

death is such a common sight

the innocent lose their freedom

the birds no longer take flight.

But in a world of constant fear,

and in a time of hate

the hatter’s laugh and the Cheshire’s grin

take part in the debate.

A war of freedom

a fight for love

a battle to conquer

and all of the above.

But such a strength to go through it all,

a transparent veil of tatters

He can choose to be solid if he wants

but only when it matters.