Puppeteer
I saw the moon rise from the edge of a cave
And for a moment considered, “Well, what if I stayed?”
But fireside longing is not a game played
with the World at your feet and a Heart that is brave.
So I endeavored the intrepid descent
Clutching the crags of the precipice tall
Daring soft sinews to counter the fall,
While stars at my back did cave shadows lament.
And, ho! Here, the dawn!
Burning wild with vermilion brawn.
Ear drums blown and retinas gone.
A Stentorian heresy, yet halcyon.
Oh, to return! But imagine the scorn
Due this poor maverick, this Omega born.
Night is uncertain when concern he the Morn,
So I wandered alone, a fugitive; forlorn.
Consolation, I sought, for the nocturnally dense,
Wrought from compassion, love, empathy, all:
Chained were they sitting in front of the Wall!
Perhaps silhouettes will best recompense?
A puppeteer of alien geometry,
Entertain, I did, the prisoner bevy.
But for one, too great did the shapes his curiosity levy—
and He turned away from the dank bathymetry.