By Warren Battye
I wear this mask
to hide my despair
as I travel these halls.
Within these four walls
in a sphere of diamonds
hung from a clasp
within the grasp of eternity.
I wait for definity.
Lost to the sound
and everything else
that can be found
within the void of this capsule.
Wherein
I am the fuel
to be spent
to fire the bullet
from its chamber
of haunted memories.
Into the light and
glory of the coming day
where all that is wrong
can be made right
by the reality of my own mortality.
Through fire and thunder I am burnt asunder.
Only to rise again from the ashes of another.
Like a phoenix
born of a feather
to soar the skies
and bring light to these eyes.
