The rattle of chains, the shuffling of pages
Freedom struggles in silent mutiny
The surety of change, the twisting of fate as it ages
I see in the garden of Destiny

The sob of an old mother, the scream of a new
In her womb I hold my breath
The waning of a candle, the birth of a flame
I see in the arms of Death

What will never be, what could have been
A sleeper mutely mouths a scream
The spark of what will be, have I seen
Floating in the realm of Dream

The face of a hammer, the point of a chisel
An artist taking pride in his creation
The edge of a sword, the nib of a pen
I see in the wake of Destruction

The beat of a glass heart, the rush of blood
Hate and revulsion forged in a slow fire
Quenched in fickle consequence
At the Threshold of Desire

A hook carving flesh, a noose of silken rope
Through the looking glasses I see them prepare,
A promise of torture, A glimmer of hope
Swirling in the fog of Despair

Colours sing, planets dance, time breaks
Insane minds fancy and take flight
Seeking refuge from their pains and aches
In Delirium's eyes they seek Delight

Thank you, Mr Gaiman, for paving the yellow brick road leading me home.
Thank you, Wren, for showing me that I can still click my heels together.


El Furibundo said...


Kai Wren said...

Good lad. Finished the lot, eh? You should write more and talk less. Play to your strengths and all that... ;-)

apoorva said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
JLS said...

man reconciles to his lot...he always does...nice..i like it!!subtle n strong!! like the rind of moon!!

Stargazer said...

@Furibundo - Thank you.

@Wren - Will try and keep that in mind. Don't get the time though. :-)

@JLS - Many thanks. :-)