Images of frenzy
and the nightmare came alive.
Clawing through the whimsy
'tween the innocent and wise.
Insanity exists in mortal form.
The terror of the flight again reborn.

Heart beating in his ears
he ran from nothing much at all.
Blood flowing deep in fear
he answered demons whispered calls.
The line is thin. The brim no longer
serves as a dividing line.

Too much, too soon.
The loom is burning brightly
like a pyre. Patterns once
thought solid dance in visions
uninspired by the love
that used to bring him happiness.

The war is over. Peasants dance.
Appeased by yet another chance
to let some other rule the lives they live.
It doesn't matter who, so long as
all is given to them that they need.
Like leeches, as they feed upon
the profits earned by others' industry.

In secret caves, grown children play,
awaiting yet another chance
for what they call a victory.
The victor's dance incurs its misery
in images of frenzy as
the nightmare comes alive.

Grown children playing rolls
with others forced to pay the tolls.
Real loving left to die
within the wings...

? Michaelette ?