The wandering god complex in me,
transfixed, it sets the stage.
Beneath the surface, the wandering worthless
are born to turn the page.
A magic man within the stars
has spared his change to time,
within these walls he is all
but outside he is blind.
He dreams the world a better place
while his reading light falls dim,
His life? a script with pages ripped
out from inside him.
It’s all a lie for he is weak
and these people are not enough.
Though the beacon is lit, he can only wait and sit
for the sea is far too rough.
Left to him a gift to share
but the water is just a mirror.
His listless eyes dare not cry
for this place will steal the tears.
Beyond these walls the world outside
turns like a winding gear,
at least in here blue lends her ear,
silence for all to fear.
April 9th, 2015