Way of Light

Things are not what they seem,
says the one caught in the dream,
these players from a different cast,
waltz the stage disguised in masks,
and there is one who tells a tale
of the watching waiting clockwork elves,
not in the stone nor river banks
in the crumbling walls, the city street,
the cracked grey pavement under their feet,
let the tale, the truth be told,
the eye that sees, the one that beholds,
is the same as the reflection in the eye,
the actor, the player of the disguise,
beyond that there is a shadow cast,
for the light surely travels fast,
like shadows, clockwork, like the night,
let the tales, and truth be told,
the dark travels fast as the light unfolds.

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