On my gleaming way home
Amidst the fading waves of visions
I got stranded in so many rooms
Of corridors I stepped on purpose
For once I was welcomed by
A handless artist
Who gave me a treat of flowers and desire
Faded by his fire
His windows were pages old
And he lived with a light he incinerated
And after I asked for a way
I was addressed to another door
A windowless room dwelt by
A verseless poet, who walks upon a string
Adorned as a necklace to turn his fate
He told me directions completed
With a tea-time set of apocalyptic nursery rhymes
Where he adored, lived, and longed to cradle
Before I went off he sent me to a philosopher next door
Who came just an age ago
She, as he said, feeds on human thoughts and sophisticated flesh
Crave unfathomable waves of loves she can control
Her ceilings as I saw was soaring up
To unlimited depth of nonexistent heaven
And humorous hell
Her demon was whole yet none
And her providence resides in her
She dwells for a short course in the clock
To find a way home as I am
Then sent me off to
A boy from the burnt-down marching band
Who talked of God, ancient lords, and prayers old
But never thought nor heed the tales
But his melodic fingers were of life and death
The serenade and the sonnets, to the worldly joy of torment and sachars
He was the friend of a wax statue overgrown by candles
Who would burn down a thousand more to lit the hearts
Of the lost and the blind
He contradicted the black-ash boy’s tales
Yet preach some of it to ease his flames
Truth be told or truth be sought
His candles and the dim little flickers
Did much to illuminate my half-consumed soul
And thus he took me to the exit door
And guided me home through the fragile night
But as I stepped further, none would heed my farewell so
In this life of considerable tears
I shall bid no farewell and I shall write my tales
Of truth be told of truth be sought