And here our words break upon the shores of reality—
Tide-less blankets of liquid thought
Pulled along by our incandescent hearts;
Spilling their force upon the all-too-familiar coastlines of this spinning island.
Here we sculpt with patient letters
The ever-shifting visage of a world so foreign to our gypsy souls.
Here we tap the boundless flow of shivering, shadow-filled ink—
And test the mortality of our fears.
Here we stare into the faces of our spectral longings,
Haunted by their passing,
Crouching beneath the covers of our wisdom
And making ghosts of angels.
Yet here
Oh! here let it be that we find again
Our castles, our warriors, our worthy beauty;
And see these pages, held firmly before our eyes,
Spoken into a whisper
That clutches away the aching dust from the mirror.
