There are villains,
Evil kings,
And golden Knights,
Fighting over ways to brandish a sword.
There are heroes,
The poor boy,
Going from rags to riches,
Giving hope to the kids who are in the deepest ditches,
The admirers too obsessed to see through the obsession.
There are princes and princesses,
Being overshadowed throughout time,
By their elders with a bigger crown,
And successes of different kinds.
There are those fairy godmothers,
Good through and through,
Getting nothing of gain,
So a person won't lose.
There are companions,
Who are always there,
No matter their friend's trouble,
No matter what there is to beware.
Then there are us,
The villagers in the story.
The unnamed, unexplained faces,
Going though the world's changing paces.
Witnesses to stories we don't realize are stories,
Because it's hard to imagine an ending,
Or to navigate a story with thousand separate plots,
All connected in each other,
In our history,
In humanity's plot
I bet you thought I was talking about a tale,
But I'm not.
Cause then there are writers, tellers, speakers,
Like me,
The ones who connect the dots,
Between the past, present, and future's history,
In hope to tell a greater meaning.
