The noiseless train was rushing up the helix.
Frenetic switchmen whistling after us.
A day? A century, us, waiting with our eyes fixed
For rays of sun to be no more. And thus,

We left the train precisely at the station
Where Pan was teaching nights the art of dark,
Where every fantasy and each consideration
Were silent like the nearing of a shark.

The quietude was numbing every muscle.
The empty trail was winding like a snake.
Our steps were getting bolder in a rustle
Of fallen hopes expired for peace’s sake.

We saw the red and breathed the burning currant.
We knew, the miracles were really not that far,
So we stepped in, no matter how much burnt,
All tempted by the heated cinnabar.

The moon was covered in cashmere and minding
Each move and sound and whiff of living earth.
The buzzing bubbling glow was slowly gliding
Over the world caught up in its rebirth.

That feeling of a myriad tiny stingers
Right through the nerves of necks and lips and hands
Was sprung from our delighted greedy fingers.
Our veins were rivers feeding thirsty lands.

Oh we were smitten! Grateful. Yes… However,
Across dimensions burnt and long collapsed
Three words were written: “Fools”, “Alas”, and “Never”,
They squirmed and ached and grew as time elapsed.