In wordy deceit my prize was won,
a cunning power came to me, precious
and rare. I engaged in word play with
a poor twisted thing, alone and insane
for so very long. We traded our best riddles,
my life for a ring of gold.
Back and forth we bantered,
of eggs, teeth, and time,
until inspiration no longer came.
He could not guess what lay within
the pocket of my waistcoat, and so
rather than be eaten, with my new
found power, I disappeared, into what
” . . . cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,”
what ” . . . lies behind stars, and under hills,
and empty holes, fills. It comes first,
and follows after, ends life, kills laughter.”
Back to the light of the surface I stole,
never suspecting the havoc and hate
I gleefully left behind.