By a dream into madness,
one last dance. At his hedge, redeeming his cliff, born to survive. He meddled
with energies, sped through demons, secluded in a little box. Never knew a
name, felt in senses, never understood a lady in her den. Cauldron pains; wicks
for mantles; working less at it. He tried for extraordinary, if to impress
another race, with days waning into darkness. Sheer urgency, every move is
imperative, like a mind suffering its fears. If possible, many would destroy
happiness, that vague creature, with her million rules; so compared, at every
angle, dripping into a puddle, mere mire, filthy mud, winking at another death.
Too tired to battle, too warn out to fight, one might slap the hell out of him.
With rudiments, with spirit roulette, sacrificed time & again; cursing his
birth, laughing at inevitability, like a man maddened by skies. Turning
corners, listening to his spirit, knowing time becomes a heckler. Fueled by
graces, wondering why, as a soul must be part with & part without. By a
dream into sadness, a cave with sages, like ruined in rebirth. So great a
contradiction, losing himself, becoming some creation. And many will outthink
him, as too, he will outthink himself, if a soul wanders down such a path. Last
voice, darkness swarming, bats laughing, to awakening in a world made of gold.
