He's left a ransom note,nsealed in wax, signed in ink.nBut his ancestry was written for him.nJust what they think.nnHe lights both candles.nThe shadows shed smiles,ndulcet crop circles lining those creases of his lips.nnHe cries at who makes him grin,nbut their eyes make saints into disease.nIt’s the familiar story of wandering eyes that never meet.nnSo they'll rebuke him fornwhat genealogy has formed-nrather than a unicorn inspired phobia.nnAnd when pleasure comesnwith approval, and candles are ablaze,nhis burning martyr will be assured.nnBut he can never know.nThey'll never know.nFlickering fires fading, blinking...nnDon’t make him say that Heaven hurts.nWhy can't he love?nDo they even know?nnGod doesn't joke that way.nNo fairytales…nTheir star-crossed destiniesnwill never intertwine.n