Claws that rip,
Fangs that gleam,
Gives the mad wicked dreams.
Wanders forward; halts; stares,
Eyes of yellow, slitted pupils. Glare.
And out of shadows, rasped sound speaks,
Like a whisper given weak wind,
Quizzical voice whom obscures reap
With ill fated fate on breath, such sins.
ĎWhat wonders down before mine eyes?
Brings cause to wonder,
draws out surprise?
Why, travelers that wander here,
Come from far, come from near.
Pausing only in brief repose,
Tho' conciseness still may expose,
Secrets, lies, half truths, Un-wholes,
And in, the seekers dig like moles.
Stay for more than a moment long?
And thy mind to you will no longer belong.
Take into context thoughts that fray,
Like my claws, from which blood runs astray.
Now run, run little birds, have no fear,
We're all quite mad, Quite awfully mad, here.í