.

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