The Toll, A Dream

A simple Clock
Tolls profound;
deep with fury,
I am found.

Wrecked my life
and torn asunder.
I lay here still
and I wonder…

Would a blade against my throat
Heal this wound;
guard me as a moat;
slice me deep, until I’m found.

Should I ever wake from this dream,
shall I find shores serene?
Or will I discover
the ancient home of my Mother,

She taught me well,
the Arts and Crafts,
with tainted Star;
I mark the hour

that the Clock,
Grandfather great,
tolls with arms
at noon and midnight.

From these wounds,
that I have suffered,
the clock again,
shall never chime

For me and mine.

As I pass
through the gate,
of this,
my death of my own make.

I am met at once with power,
strengthen deep upon my glower.
This is now the time
when the veil is lifted at the chime.

I see all
from this high perch.
Atop a chariot,
clouds, unearthed.

My wrath and fury
upon this verse,
they shall know
my painful curse.

thus do I know now,
The clock chimed so foul,
Not for my eternal soul
but for my enemies; their lives extinguished

a thousand-fold

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