Blinding light with hands outstretched
A silhouette dances on the horizon.
It beckons me, with hinting grin etched lips,
To follow, so I grip her hand and on we fly.

Soft warmth caresses my skin as the light surrounds,
Harp song flows as smoothly as river sound.
Eyes turn and smiles break
Carving the faces of paint I've seen
In my visions of the Sistine.  

Those high walls stagger above me,
But the gates stand ajar.
The moat forded and oak doors entered
But no harp song drifts within these walls.

Cold stone meets feet as my
Hand bearer retreats.
A gaze cast back, met with doleful eyes
And a nod to enter on.

So on I cast my senses,
Until upon an ornate throne they rest.
Crafted in shimmer, white with golden hues,
Hand rests embedded with artisan jewels.

A throne worthy of Zeus,
Yet skies of lightning do not greet.
The seat sits vacant,
Webbed stones of an owner long gone.

In a fit I turn,
The light fading from those arching windows.
I reach out for the hand,
A clawing search for reassurance
But solitary I stand,
In this abandoned Palace of eternity
With a vacant throne so grand.