The Writer By The Fire (2012)

The night before eternity screams silent cry
when death dreams old dreams new,
and time ticks the melting candle;
the writer by the fire.

Shadow beings dance the walls
playing romances on endless shelves of blank pages,
and silently cries the child behind cold eyes
as shakes the hands that buried Never Neverland.

Silent night screams the storm outside,
a wind the chill of death sings,
and evermore melts time away,
the writer by the fire.

The night before Neverland burned death down
to the sound of child's laughter in the rain,
There he stood though not at all;
Her hair her hair blew in the wind.

A breath he breathes as none at all,
the old man young still lived;
Neither Alice nor Wendy stood he to face,
Unyielding her eyes what did she see?

A child's laughter rings in the rain,
what was it that he felt,
when she reached out to touch
the heart behind the wall?

The night before eternity screams silent cry
as the past whispers melodies in his ear,
a page breaks free from thousands more,
and casts from its perch.

A moments breath he breathes though as none at all
a flash of writing that catches his eye,
and though as a trick of the light,
the blank page turns to ash in the fire.

A tear that could be lost as any before it
gone as quickly as it came,
the wonder before came a memory forgotten;
the levy lay broken as the flood comes forth.

Neverland was perfect in fall summer spring and all
twists of Wonderland did course through its veins,
and though she was perfect the sign sure of heaven
never could he imagine true she was so much more.

Her hand found its way past his wall endlessly
ten thousand years and more,
and with her voice she made music come forth,
the writer's hands painting words on the page.

A child's laughter rings in the rain,
what was it that she saw
as she gazed into his eyes,
beyond into his soul?

A moment's catch the frozen breath in his throat,
pour fire forth from the floodgates of heaven,
Ice grasps fingers clutch at his heart,
a thrust inward he forces them away.

Winter reigns rains against the stone wall outside,
as once upon the midnight dreary chimes the clock,
tick tock tick tock tick tock he breathes,
gears too rusted to turn the hands forth.

The night before eternity calls silently forth to him,
And alone in the room no longer is he,
a force calls shriller than all the muses before;
and from silence a memory pushes forward.

There she is in garb of black,
though today is not a day to mourn
her voice worked through to his soul
as in her hand his she took.

A carnival of sorts a carnival of souls,
a magic show most odd to see,
and the likes of such he had never held
and the gates of heaven did open.

Upon sunset surely did the day end
and parting he knew to come,
but as the sun set on oceans blue,
she found once more his hands in hers.

Silence broken by a voice outside,
a presence come to destroy that which brought joy;
a presence he knew he knew too well,
a being he had birthed of his own hatred.

Inward bend the walls twisting to its sway
as madness twists at the shadows,
surely it says memories these are nothing other
than the fancies of the writer by the fire!

With its voice pages fly open as books fall to the floor
blank pages catching the light of the fire
and though by a trick of light words glance the pages,
and color returns slowly to his eyes as he sees...

The forest first then the shore of the endless sea,
the rolling tide washed away their footprints,
and eternally it rolled in but pulled back,
unable to give sway to they that lay.

Her hand lay gripped in his as she gazed to his soul
where deep inside him she had found herself,
and equally so he found within her
both peace and a home.

Her hand on his cheek his hand in her hair,
she promises a night without pain,
as she stood with him without end,
never did he need to fear.

The storm now held sway to all around him
a once soft voice echoed its scream through his soul,
books evermore come crashing to the floor,
the first crack runs the length of the stone wall.

In flashes of darkness a smile an eye glancing inward at him,
a monstrous being to devour that which he holds,
come forth it whispers sweetly come to me
beyond your stone walls waits painful death.

A book comes down another follows suit
and blinding light flows forth,
his writing stares from the page back at him,
and her voice whispers softly in his ear.

He stands in Neverland garbed in dress of war
the day it stood in fires he birthed,
the dark whispers poison in his ear sweetly
as he burns the walls of paradise down.

A painful memory both past and present begin to merge,
he sees the lie he was forced to believe and begins to shake,
hatred burns forth as fire lights in his eyes
a voice familiar sings love in his ear he sees.

The first moment the first glance he remembers it all,
remembers her name and calls it out,
at first there is nothing but silence with him
then warmth crosses his shoulders and envelops his heart.

Neverland fades away nothing more than a memory now to him
but this time he does not forget he cannot forget;
new blood flows forth through old limbs as he fights to move,
heart pounding as heaven pours forth once more from his eyes.

A crack once now gives way to a crumbling wall as night pours in,
as light battles the advancing darkness outward gazes the writer,
despair greets him as he stares endlessly into the abyss,
and hope comes forth as a voice sings from inward out.

Na na na na, na na na na sings the child inside,
an energy that feeds the fire and awakens the writer at last,
he clutches the table as he struggles to stand,
in a rush of life he grasps it and throws it into the fire.

Naked he stands as Neverland comes once last to his eyes,
once last he beholds the paradise he destroyed,
and this time he does not stand alone,
delicate arms holding tight from behind.

He needs not look to know it is her nor he speak for her to hear,
as once more for her he lets down his guard,
he feels the warmth and knows it for the smile she wears,
his eyes close as he knows what must come.

Her warmth upon his flesh he feels at first
then the touch of that which he swore never more to wear,
piece by piece she has garbed him in the armor that she made,
and laces in his hand hers the sword that he must now use.

With open eyes he stares now into the darkness knowing it stares back,
that beast which he gave birth to and nurtured with his own blood,
against the storm he can hear it breathing can feel its lust,
the beast as death come to take that last which he holds dear.

The flame to his side begins to die out
now becoming fuel for the growing darkness,
he closes his eyes and whispers forth the darkness to hear,
"I am the ghost of Neverland."

The darkness envelops him entirely as he charges forward,
no longer the writer by the fire now a ghost living,
for a moment there is a sound of thunder that rings forth,
then silence sings forward as the rain dies away.

In ash lay Neverland and now in ruin the fortress he had built
the storm that existed moments before now a memory in the endless dark,
memories could not exist of the writer beside the fire
nor of that love he had held so dear.

Silence sings forth a funeral dirge though the world cannot know for who,
a battle against inner demons that had been fought to loss,
the darkness stagnates and the sound ceases,
and suddenly peace violenty is broken.

From the deepest death of darkness a light burns forth and a song is born,
words begin once more to dance upon worn pages brought forth from fire,
a sword dances violently out from the last tendrils of cold darkness
as he steps forward holding in his hand that hand that once held his.