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In this conception, I find myself writhing,

Playing a concerto to an audience of masks, deadly in contrast,

Beautiful yet atrocious in their ways - needing a burning,

Fire consumes their dying eyes, yet I wain with hourglass.



Justice would have me play till I am numb,

A stinging feeling over takes my fingers,

Cold touch, icing on the cake, a figure adjacent,

Telling me the opera is done, so silent I weep; I'm spent.



The last calling fades as I falter my playing, choking,

Gasping on thin air, not knowing the ending chord,

What have I done? Appraisal? Hindrance? Have I become one?

One with the music? One with the melody? Time will tell.



All I hear is the uttering of words, heart felt murmuring,

A singing of years gone by, what a masterpiece,

Sorrow felt me, could they feel me beneath their bronze?

Or shall I play a few more dreadful songs?

Eagerness to be locked in honest proposal,

I head to the door that is acclimated to despair,

Such an abomination, skewed between the forcing,

Cut of the same cloth I've seen before, I only stare.



A moment of clarity, breath iced in frosting, a bellow,

What is it I hear, such a monstrous yelping, tapping,

Could I be beneath the earth? A lair so fell,

Latched upon my arm, mysterious as tomb's wrapping.



I wander this labyrinth, shallow thoughts mystifying,

Yearning to find my place in a substandard timeline,

Could I be lost? Memories of what was once before,

Some how I find myself staring at the same door.



Opened with caution, a light beckons me forth,

Only to be awakened with reckoning,

That which I sought, freedom, is here naught,

Just another maze to be found in the heading.



Left? Right? Does it matter at this point?

I cannot count as the sands at my feet churn,

It seems as though I've met my ending,

Never did I think blackness would come to learn;

My name.