Gone, the cry of the nurtured

of minds led by divine grace.


Gone, the enlightened process of reason

the functions twisted by acquisition.


Gone, the free-spirited souls

fluttering under the canopied rooftops.


Gone, the righteous champions of the spotlight

crashing down to lay with the mortals.


All that remains; a footprint in the sand

Washed away by the rising tide.


The door.

In timeless breaths

it bites, gnaws at my soul.

Hammering at the door.


“Where is your master!”

Bellowing whilst he crawls

None withstanding, crashing upon the door.


“The master is I, and I master none!”

Shouting, raving to a score

Silent reply and silence heard only by the door.


Yet, Still I lay a-waiting

Forever abound by this droll

Crashing and rasping upon the door.

High score.

A dream furfilled, messages instilled.

The children raised, windows glazed

Who got the high score?


A book written, a wife most smitten

The world travelled, its mysteries unravelled

Who got the high score?


Found enlightenment, lived without alignment

put in another coin, “player two can join”

Who got the high score?




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