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Verse I

deep into a garden light beyond closed latched gate lifted by two trees

hinges collapsing yet upon branches limbs they hang from tattered rope

frayed from wind whipping each and everyday in all of times swing grazed

by cold winds whom ask not nor heed not upon sunbeams whom do ignite

the mask laying beneath leaves from summer to fall to winters white cloak

shaken off by forest folk ever careful not to disturb the settled mask in dirt

windless dancing flowers bloom rainfalls from clouds above and grasses

green and poison berries grow round vine like between hanging clusters

of ivy as raindrops get caught in acorn shells for fairys tiny hands all covered

in blood black thorns attack the face attached to the white mask hidden by

the shadow a stone marked ancient grave promises of a more blessed frame

rising from death's posture unto a living walking being is not fortunes plan

keeping to keeping the mask deeply dreaming sleep for death is taking to

going between heaven's revelry and hell's forgetful raiment losing time &

getting lost within worlds whom have no place for happenstance whilest

streaming pasts caught by every catch whirling seaward to oceans open

open open thee thy gate shaking a key at wooden planks kept hanging

between two trees holding on for dear life as storming minds crashing

tither and hither rises and falls demise as shadows pull away each and

every prisoner whom does lay their hands upon heaven's entrance like

a ship goes out to sea like a sailing mast needs wind for handwriting

sailing free empty of all time's morsels all time is time again to no one

and for no one does time's sand fall but whom does turn to dust to dust

pieces of sharp broken bones aligning where once was buried sleep to

be remembered on a better night a better fight between no man sees

between natures cruel design hidden mind what gate are thee seeking

waking up on a sidewalk of a street in some far off disappearing dream

looking for what exactly has been lost crawling on hands and knees sworn

just a moment ago just an instance it was here and now where has it gone

to thee where has thy face been found buried beneath a tree somewhere

next to a grave keeping self from self with molten chains bolted tightly to

and from death walks keeping things orderly losing touch creating breath

walking beneath streetlamps the white mask of societies social circles laughs

tilting backwards tapping cane shining shoes stripping dames a dozen to

a damsel mistress wherefore art thou tongue be lucid and with effort then

with force breaking the clasps of the corset of the dying skin rotting corpse

buried deep in a garden masked as a forest all setting scene all living green

growing from out of a dream barely grasped by consciousness collapses by

a hanging gate above a stone tied tight to two trees burning reflection in a

dark lake shimmering instant of a memory polished plate bleeding hearts

bursting headlong through and through by and by and forevermore gone

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