where would you go to escape if the fairy books awoke ? would you run into a galaxy of mazes and stars and colors so beautiful that only the most innocent could tell of ? would you hide in a room with only the cowardly and then form together…
in all your fear and make a mountain ? would you stay and play beautiful music and tell melancholy tales for Robin & Marion and the other outlaws ?
would you leap into a thousand kisses or float into eternity ? would you laugh in the courtyards of queens and dance to the maiden’s
songs of unicorns and dragons ? or would you play games with all the children of the unknown fairy tales and guide Mili and be her angel ?
would you laugh and cry with the winds and fly away with the swans ?
Mario William Vitale is a poet with over 1,000 toward his platform. Vitale was born October 23rd, 1970 in Bristol, Ct. Currently living in Wolcott, Ct where he helps as a care taker for his elderly handicapped mother Ann. Vitale is featured as a writer on Poetrysoup, Writerscafe & Allpoetry. Has a fan base on facebook with over 650 followers. He started writing poems in 1989 after the break up of his first girlfriend as a way to cope with life.
A story they have to tell One that can teach a lesson like a folktale With a lot being observed And knowing that no dish has been served They grab a pencil and paper Cause the pages are still eager
Into the darkness, into the night, Filled with despair, no reason to survive, I lay down with everything to lose, No hope no life and reason to grow,. A winter wind passing by, Touching my skin and shiverinv by., The
The bygone art, a dead shrine; Thou not dead, thou live… shall live By art of carve that plays on and will it play Forever, timeless, in century’s lap The beauty, thou struck me a year back: So calm, so
When you kiss me you Set my heart on fire! You send me into frenzy, A frenzy of sweet burning Desire! When You Kiss Me I am Like putty in your hands It’s nothing short of ecstasy Sheer ecstasy and
When roses bleed thorns- it’s time to prune them. Waiting for seasons to change- is like waiting for silence to resolve- conflicts- a game of pride and rank. When roses bleed thorns- thistles outgrow the rosebuds; until color is lost
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