Crystal mirror and moonlight dim.
Aetherial arms of rusty metal
draped in delicate fantasy.
Like nebulous blades of strings,
its concert casts the will of the puppeteer.
The beasts roam between sleep and lucidity,
yet the colossus still chases the mirage of unreality.
You will hear his screams echo in the wind,
but his ravings are speared in the wall of subtlety.
The eyes that see stare entranced at the infinite,
and thoughts flee from the chamber of wordly lunacy.
“I once was human”, a voice rustles in
from the backdrop of the scenery,
“yet I died in the pyre of my own scavenging”.
“Does it hurt?”, the undines peep out their heads
from the night pond curiously; “Do you weep?”
The voice retreats.
Silence falls on autumn’s lips,
yet the sentient architect knows
the possible impossibility.
Sandalwood, myrrh, and peppermint
outline the edges of myriad realms –
so apart, yet scarcely distant.
Above two poles of shipwrecked mariners
broken against the rocks of lawful quietness,
sits enthroned the lord of madness.
His eyes burn lapis lazulized,
and his domain is the reflection
of his inventive sacredness
still rubified.
The Nocturnal Versifier 