.
burrowed into their hole
swallowed unceremoniously
by the darker of night
they shiver and quiver
and cannot help but hope
that somehow their prayers
shall be heard and answered
and that they may be
in time returned in kind
but they cannot remember
what at all they used to be
.
oh they can still hear the notes
and murmur a few words
broken verses of an old song
carrying truth through the season
spreading warmth through the winter
filling their full before the summer
.
they are bright and strong
able and bodied,
puzzled by their own mastermind
but they cannot remember
what at all they used to be
.
as they fall prey to sleep
as they run and flee
wild in the colours only souls can shine
full of life and longing
for what they used to be
they cannot remember at all
.
a cold white field rests silent
above this citadel of spirits
unresting, unrested, uninterested
when they see the shadows
and they read in the fleeting ink
in broken words and murmured notes
at the brim of the stage
just beyond the deathly rempart
destiny’s unequivocal soliloquy
.
and they yearn, and they cry
and they burn, and they try
to remember how to understand
how they could be again
what they never were quite able to be
what they saw reflected
in the shivering fresh water
just below the icy mirror
but they are hooked to the lines
that will sink them to the floor
afloat while the rain pours still
as the call of the deep
offers to swallow the fear
of what they used to be
that they cannot yet remember
.
it is yet the science of it all to question
a madness lined in gold