There sure is a way out-
Or may be not
For no one has ever known
the way out from here.
We keep searching here-
Here and over there
No, may be not-
May be it's just not here!
Dead roses, dead leaves
Sans beauty, piled up in heat
Broken beads, breathing its last
Shrunk like the ghosts of Christmas past!
Doors! Doors! There I see!
As wide as a devil's glee!
I sprint with hope, my feet on air
I run, run, as the young brown mare!
May be the sand beneath my feet
Sent out an alarm, before my meet
For no more was there, a door that stood
But walls of stone, and not even wood!
I placed my hand, on those walls
Hoping to feel the reason for my fall
There was only, but the cold of the rock
Caging the lands wide, with gloom for the lock!