deep within the depths
of an unbound spell
sits a boy in a bed of grass
endless blue fills above
and the wind carries a soft touch
suddenly black covers
pulling the curtain over the set
surrounding the urchin with


silence


black


a voice bounded through
it was a strange tone:

italicI am of the unseen
tangible I am not
we are you
you are we
we are what could be
we are what shouldn’t be

there are thousands of me
you... but one
one should be wise
though your choice
could be your demise
you will choose italic

growing faint
the darkness lifted
here I found

myself

in a field