Said the grandmother to the girl:

Listen child

Your stories are full of princesses,

cold stone towers,

emerald scaled dragons with piercing eyes

and flames for breath.

But you know not of the stars

Their tales do not belong

in books that end happily

ever after.

 

Their wishes are not their own

 

Falling stars have reaching arms 

of empty promises.

They are the false story tellers

Cradling the lost in fantasy

All the while

plummeting.

 

"Hush now", they say

"Sleep, beauty.

the dream is this horror you see

sit and eat our apple pies

poisoned with hopes

we cannot promise."

 

And if you run...

When you run, feeling the facade

Your glass heels crack.

slicing into you

refusing to let your wish fade softly

 

For they are the true stars of the tale

The givers.

Letting all they had

fill the sky

for your happy ending.

They died for you.

Soundless sacrifices

scalding orbs of light 

and good

and winter smells

and children's smiles.

Flushed down

into your pipe dream.

 

So when you wish

hope

and

dream.

Know that it is on the backs of those

with far less power

than your own hands.

And far more love

than you

can fathom.