Who Is It?
Who is it, who is it?Sending these questioning stares outward
From this prison of bone-flesh-sinew?
Who is it, who is it...
Building dreamscapes of bent light and
Shattered, rainbowed crystal hopes?
Who is it, who is it?
Shapeshifting through teeth clenched dreaming-
Loping through fog-bound memory to hunt?
Who is it,who is it?
Writing histories of ancient lore
With a quill shaped from his own bones?
Who is it, who is it?
Weaving nets of sunlight and starlight-
Casting outward to catch endless tomorrows?
Comes a knocking ... a thunderous pounding
on the glyph etched door
That stands still and frighteningly silent
Like some great stone sentinel between this very real “now”
And that diaphanous, very unreal “then”…
A knocking timed to the very cadence
Of the blood driven drum of the heart…
Who is it?
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