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©1996 Laura Chambers-Wright. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form without explicit written permission from the author.
Ghosts dance across a brain-dead mind,
Singing their funeral song, passing the hands of time.
Royal cherubs, chorusing angels, seraphs of highest abode,
Choose the already chosen way, the already traveled road.
Trapped inside flesh and blood, vainly contemplating an escape,
When this road is twisted by a turn, any refuge must wait.
As the sun dances on the horizon, doing ethereal teases of light,
The darkness demands one last stand, and lovingly claims the night...
Bound for collision in this latent smokescreen,
Enticed into mercy and a serenading shiveree.
The satire of evening as chamber music starts to fade,
The pathos of conundrum, and reality slipping away.
Launched into a world of beckoning danger,
Still water runs deep in the eyes of a stranger.
Going simply mad over an old aging invention,
The road to Hell is paved with purest intention.
The pathless realm of a vast and barren field,
Searching with strange and distorted thoughts of an ideal...Weaving intricate, fabled yarns,
Of lost faith and macabre tragedy.
Tarnishing the silver light in your eyes,
As you stop to stare back at me.
Stranger than any paradise,
The tomb of your heart was exposed to the night,
And you can not overcome
Such beautiful, cryptic light...