Create a door...
Try the handle and discover it is locked...
Create a key...
Unlock the door to unreality...
Phantasms circle low above,
Nymphs dance in the shadows of the trees,
Clouds wander like friends amongst the valley mist,
And the birds, oh the birds, play a dirge tonight.
An echo from the stone,
In the ground at your feet,
Buried deep beneath,
Is a man with a word to speak.
"Shallow waltzs on the moon tonight,
Hands touch and their soul departs,
Hearts detracted from a golden pond,
Illusion begat from the owners' want."
Soft steps to not disturb them moss,
Do not awake the changelings on the floor,
Mushroom houses for the blue and despair,
Refreshing putresence of the graveyard air.
Angelic echo in the willow,
Wailing not weeping,
For your shoulder to bear,
"Oh the loss of the life next to me,
Rooted firmly by an unloved stump,
Bring back the sapling I desired,
And the seedling love be yours."
Furthered divigation about the lofty thick,
Grey swallows puddling in the parched ground,
Towering columns aside the grand iron,
Wishful gates to block the outsiders.
Partied echo beyond,
Intrude the lechery,
Satyrs and the nymphs from before,
Gasp and horror as you approach.
"But you should not be here,
It is not welcome we will give,
Harsh reprisal is inevitably here..."
Silence thine ingrate and let me go near,
The altered prison afar in the room,
Great shadows loom to disguise the alcove,
Approach reveals starfire light,
Burning the faces of the donkey eared,
Unveiling a single branch beneath a crystal jar.
Backdown and away with object in hand,
Back to reunite the bethrothed,
Haw'ing at the mockery crowd,
Now bathing macabre of the blinding beams,
Reach out to the weeper,
Offering and acceptance freeing the dead,
Whom departs crying without a word.
Planted it grows unfathomably fast,
Reconciled and healed they now are a pair,
But without ado a mention of payment.
"Take this seed and plant it where,
But in the foundation of your love,
Whether it be firmament or limbo,
Watch the becon grow and then attract,
Lost carriers of the sticks of the one that ran,
Whom be warned is waning love and may be unsure."
An inamorata I care not have,
I but welcome the gift as bonus,
To what I have returned to you,
And the seed will sit behind the mantle brick,
Securing shelter with not bringing leeches,
Fate which told me to be aware.