In the whispers of a rainy night, crickets give still company
Rustling leaves outside flip my rustling pages backwards.
Revisiting broken land, an idea never so good,
Reaching those cold silver gates, take no step further.
What lies hidden in that beautiful stretch, is an ugly memory.
The unexposed fangs of the shining monster.
Lose the key, and run back to safety,
One click of the lock, and a land of no return.
Every night I visit, those sullen lanes of no hope,
But the faraway glinting eyes of the monster, still a beauty!
I sit just outside those strong gates, and look deep inside,
The keys dangle in those pockets, but hands dare not move.
The mind holds the key, while the lock calls out to my heart,
Possession of thoughts, inheritance of a lifetime.
Days to months to years, key slips down to the heart,
Opening the lock never appealed so much before.
Before I knew, I ran into the beyond of the past,
Fell again, bruised again, brushed again and I ran.
Out of all the preciousness, locked for ages,
Was the most valuable possession, turned stone over time.
It speaks a language common to commoners,
But mum to me, mad at me, stone for me!
And will always be, until it breaks, it crumbles,
And I will still be there, picking those pieces like I once did.
From those burnt pages turned to ash, I shall polish you.
Those words still haunt in every smoke.
Reassembling you, is letting history repeat.
Reassembling you, is like killing myself.
Reassembling you, is scheming my doom.
Reassembling you, is a mistake repeated.
But reassemble you, I will.
Because, I love you still.
