In a Kingdom full of storms
a dungeon rests beneath the castle.
Every citizen mourns
the passing of a royal damsel.

The notebook a butterfly adorns
is carried during a stranger’s travel.
It’s significance unknown,
but for the name scrawled
on the tassel.

He walked through the night
and long into the morn.
He made his way indifferent;
though within, a great uproar.

At last, he headed up the steps
to the topmost platform.
After a slight hesitance,
he entered rather tranquil.

The book held high,
his secret now revealed
sent the King into a furor.
It only took a moment
for the shackles to be sealed.

Clashing emotions.
Turbulent waves.

Drowning
beneath the surging sway.

Reaching the surface,
stroke by stroke.

Yet, it gets further away.

Bide your time.

For then,
the world was aligned.

Hearts were light,
and darkness, not in sight.

Now,
is bound by mechanical mimes.

They are of the speaking kind.

However,
the ways they think and act and sign...

are not of the human mind.

Their hearts are blight
and their thoughts can smite.

For they are trained,
to be mechanical mimes.

Lock away the terror.
It is never to be shown.
Take it day by day,
without a reason known.

My view is bleak;
shadowed by bars and stone.
Strength now sapped.
This pain’s endured alone.

Kept contained and locked within;
thoughts are continuously thrown.
Tossed aside into a heap
now completely overflown.

If only someone knew.
But fearfully, they withdrew.
So no one has a clue.
Why can't this be untrue?