Time, these cards cascade;
Deck crumbles, a shallow grave
Dug by its own spades.

Dressed in his own wool,
Not much to be shed;
The drums syncopate,
For his royal court in red.

Guards flanked the wolves,
While he addressed the menagerie;
Feasted on the cornucopia,
Fattened for the tragedy.

The wife kissed him with a smile,
Then offered him to the altar;
It was the shepherd all the while,
Who took the lamb to the slaughter.

Blazing thru November moons,
The twelfth month frolicked down;
Devouring vespers of the Halloween monsoons,
And rained fire to dim-lit towns.
We brewed gunpowder haze and caught thrill fever,
While we stripped our calendars bare;
We saw houses and streets collect the cinders,
To make verdant trees with flickering hairs.
There was an ember glowing beneath our beds,
That burned brighter with the days that came;
We hummed the tunes now etched in our heads,
And amused our kins now we only know by name.
We stuffed excitement in our pillows,
As we're dying to open our holiday loots;
Our happiness was still too shallow,
But our smiles lit up the kitchen soot.
The cold winds kept fanning the flames,
The one which fueled our childhood sun;
Until we stopped playing our parlor games,
And our feet grew too cold to run.

You fiddle with colors and make them bloom
Like cherry blossoms in a dismal room
You stitch the tatters and make it work
Into a masterpiece of various quirks.

You see the world as styles and hues
An artist mixing her reds and blues
To create a lilac sky with a sun that sets
Into a supernova skyline where flamingos nest.

You must keep that passion and hold it dear
As it burns away many doubts and fears
If Midas' touch turns all things to gold
You make lifeless objects into stories told.