The room grows dark,
dreamy light drains away and the impending tone is set.
In stone they write stories
in graves they write wars, gods fall to temper blades
history is splashed with more tears, marring the old words.
Lightning strikes as blind eyes in the sky’s scrapers
look down on the canopy tops at the receding hair line
sign the red dotted line, no cutting back
forever forsaken forgotten intricacies
lost jungles, darkness creeps
in broad daylight, with hidden eyes
plotting, afraid, desperate, alive
with mythic fangs, leaves remains
waiting for the chance
it will perish but it knows
it never ends.