There was wilderness that took them to Eden
A whirling glass that took them home
A broken vase that took them to a shattered life
But that was the only place they’d known;
Which would bring them back to paradise, naked and alone.
It was a sight sought in a melting moon,
A pink ribbon wrapped around a branch,
Deep waters in a shallow pond,
Somewhere beneath that game of chance.
A soldier slaughtered in the field of battle,
A betrayed lover lost to lust,
A wandering spirit who’s chance had been taken,
And then in time turned to dust.
It was the next moment in the hour, the week or the month,
The next time his eyes had opened,
The next time in life he did trust.
Another’s promise or guarantee, truthful swear of certainty,
Step into darkness where trust is unknown,
A place he’d hope would take him home.
It wasn’t Alice, the rabbit or a throne,
Not a giant who’d been tied down by little people in a place unknown.
Not a sleeping beauty in a crystal box
Or watched over by dozens of gnomes.
But a story like all of the stories before,
Where he sat in the corner and listened alone.