Ode to McGill

Melting pot.

No, tornado.

Incoherent thought,

Fake, genuine, bravado.


The small comforts of home,

Herded like a cattle into chaos,

Well, when in Rome....

Wait, you're telling me I'M my own boss?


Overwhelmingly exciting,

My little city on a hill,

With nerves I desperately cling,

My new home, my very own McGill.

The Tale of the Deathly Hallows

There was once a wizard well traveled,
Who commanded attention when he spoke.
With recounts of victorious duels that marveled,
His only shame was defeat against another magical bloke.

His brother, too, had his own deep grief,
The girl he had once hoped to marry-untimely dead.
Void of happiness, the man considered Death a thief,
Sorrow drove him mad; if only, if only, was all he said.

Their younger brother still, was a wise chap for his years,
He prized moral over magic and chose friend over foe.
With noble conviction in his heart, he walked with no fear,
He had little quarrels; his sweet temper bore no bruised ego.

These three brothers once chanced upon
A treacherous river, stalked by Death.
With a wave of their magical wands, Death was dealt a con,
A bridge upon which they walked, past Death, within the thinnest of breadth.

Death greeted the three wizards, with fraudulent compliments,
Offering a reward for their skilled sorcery,
'Name it, and you shall have it, O Kings of Valiance,'
He now meant to gain their lives through treachery.

The first, the master of duels immediately desired,
A wand so unmatchable, its owner would be omnipotent.
So Death fashioned the weapon from a tree; the brother by the power he acquired,
Boisterously parted; never thinking it wise to be prudent.

The second wished to humiliate Death further,
Asked to be able to return his dead to life.
'This will return to you who was taken by the Grim Reaper.'
Death assured the brother, with love he'd reunite, he'd have his loving wife.

The third brother had quietly watched all this transpire. 

He knew too well what tricks Death was up to. 

'Invisibility is the asset I wish to acquire,'

Death grudgingly parted with his own Cloak and bid him adieu. 

Seeking out and destroying his foe, the first brother, 

In a drunken stupor, made the secret of his weapon known.

As he slept, a thief stole his wand and slit his throat for good measure, 

And so, Death took the first brother for his own. 

The second brother turned his pebble three times over, 

And there appeared his lady love, not mortal nor was she ghostly,

Time passed and the girl's shadow grew dimmer and dimmer, 

She did not belong; and the brother took his life so as to join her truly. 

Having taken the second for his own, Death endlessly sought,
The third brother who lived quite peacefully; to Death he remained invisible,
Passing the Cloak to his son, the brother joined Death as he ought,
Greeted Death in old age, parting with him in this life, as an equal.

With the wand, the first brother's life ended in strife,
With the stone, the second brother drowned in his own sorrows,
With the cloak, the third brother lived a long and fruitful life,
With these three, becomes the tale of what we call the Deathly Hallows.

Roses and Obstacles

My life is packed in boxes,
The send-off is nearly here.
Bobby pins, boots, hugs and kisses.
Tightly packed, comforts I hold most dear.

There are boxes of roses,
Packed with pretty, youthful things,
I can smell wondrous adventures with my nose;
Promising me delights a new life will bring.

There are boxes of obstacles too,
Crammed with failures, fights and tears.
A reminder that in life, certainties are few,
Daring me to shed my mask and let go of my fears.

A solemn buoyancy dances inside of me,
A roller-coaster of emotions takes its own journey within.
Inhibitions in an uninhibited future set me free,
Knowing my life will change into something it has never been.