Shimmering crystals of rainbow invention
Remind me of my own cursed ascension
This place of glittering dust can appeal
To the eyes of one who has never been real.
So we wait and we listen; we listen and wait.
For a fictional creature; a fictional gate.
A lapse in the silence, is it blessed or cursed?
Or a prayer for our lives to just be reversed?
They wrote with their blood on the stone of our time,
But who knew that the life that they took would be mine?
