Spinning starburst starlight lives
enlighten hearts, delight the minds
and queerer questions ever will
perturb the thoughtful, ever still
From distant places, vaguely known
inspired dreams can yet be grown;
Magnificent. Marvelous. Magic-less. Vast
futures implied by incredible past.
A gap so wide, there is no bridge
to ease our lonely pilgrimage
ever towards the barren coast;
it's failing hopes that ache the most
when walking near those empty shores.
This emptiness the soul abhors.
The beauty that we find today
are footprints left to guide the way.
Dangling sunlight, savagely flung
on precious paintings, poorly hung
from sparkling, sputtering, splintering skies;
it's in the night that twilight dies;
for what use is the burning sun,
when by it are good works undone?
Despite the desperate, drenching lies,
and counsel of the wicked wise,
and frigid fists of flagrant fools
content to be their master's tools
(for why would ever want they claim
to own their wrought; inflicted pain?)
Perhaps in sleep to dream, and see
the consequence of fallacy;
to know not what, nor where, nor when,
but still to claim the wisest ken.
Sensual, silken, seemly sights.
Whirling wonders. Dizzying heights
From parted lips the promise spins,
where midnight ends, her hair begins.
And he is trapped for all to see,
enchanted by her puppetry.
Her twisted purpose sweetly serves
to vilify his noble nerves.
This is how the story's told
to hearts of young, from mouths of old.
This is how the legends start;
value placed on player's part.
From this fiction fast we find
the wanderers path is well-defined
by twisting turns and gaping holes.
So deadly is this Maze of Souls.