my manacled mind shaped heart
lavishly decked in red blooded fortune cookies telling futures that cease to exist and lonely storytellings of women in love
and the bitter resentment of dawn
and the dances of the silvery stream whispers of the unknown dipped in roses ready to be worn

n.b

Sleepwalkers are following
the thin rope tethered to the ancient regime’s stone
they are going on a path paved of ludicrous storytellings
they’re passing through the cliff of illusion
while the deceiver plays his fiddle
its egregious sound twists their thoughts

beyond the illusion
there’s the awakening of the wonders.