Promise of Tomorrow

You are the fragile prince of time who sits in the tower of Louis Charles. But a rumored story, you sit on the cobblestone floor, emprisoned by your own mind. The walls are scratched by the attempts to relieve the pressure of details regarding the princess who rests in the apple of your eye. She is what you seek when looking onto the streets. Resembling the last spark of hope, you grip her within your empty arms. She is the reason you hold on, the reason you do not flee from the room where the crumbs of rocks lay disregarded.

In the night, you dream of such a creature. Hair feathered about the pillow, breath the whisper in your ear, her beauty is the light of the moon that paints the city in the luminescent pearl. Sketched upon the floor is the picturesque fairytale where you save her from your own demise. But these are but dreams. No one can save you from this prison but yourself. The words barricade the door as your thoughts reinforce the defensive streak that surround you.

You cower away for you fear not being enough, not being the material to reign the crown of her heart. Little do you know, she is down below in a cell of her own. Nails having bled, she writes the rhymes of love onto the cloth of her flimsy gown. You are her ever-lasting dream, the last chance to escape this misled, enchanting world.

One day, as they march you down the winding staircase and down the corridor, your hand will grasp hers through the bars of the rusted iron. You face the death but in her eyes, you see it is not the end. There is still the shot of later, drifting within the clouds that you hear the inspiring giggle, the flower blooming smile.

The guillotine is quick and sweet but you whisper her name before the blade for it is your rebellion; this is not the end, it is but a new beginning.