Within the fractured frame of a mirrored world,
lies the eyes of my whispered prize,
a magnified branch,
rotten at the roots,
lost in the winds of a prophesied call,
we sway to a song,
we sing to a tune,
twisted play things,
of an impossible shrewd,
lions of winter,
kitten in spring,
a repetitive repeat,
a mirror without me….
The Twisted Roads To My Madness 