What

Backward marched the candle glow

As the wax flows in the shadows

Pictures lapse, politely go

As the figurines cloak touches the rope

Cold we grope to the tired trope

To be within some contemplation

I mold the modulations

To see what has begat some seasonal grief

As the fake conducts the shriek

Somewhere sometime looking down

A porpoise leaps from the shattered deep

As antique is shined and polished

A ghost of the home where the phantom floats

Upon the helms of shipwrecked boats

I see the reminiscence pondering with resistance

Toward the foaming shores, toward the opening doors

Whence the fields shall come, where the mind is overcome

Upon the crest of dragons my bayonet pierces the final words

what is it that sees 

what is it that is me

Each wandering thought shall prize with a word

To orchestrate each song, each thought shall be heard

Chaos bows and staggers in the sense

Birthed from the fires, a sheer look of the summoned spires

I want to see the ocean drift in a rift of sacred dreams

The sands have flooded, the mountain has dried

And I know that I have really died

And I know that I have never cried

what is it that sees me

what is it...

Solitary preliminary begotten from the stones that surround me

I am lonesome in this hall of mirrors

The angels fear

I am forgotten in the clot of earth

Damned to my scenes

As my wall collapses and I see I am free