As restlessness spirals like swirls in a shimmer,
An aura showered path swallows blackness as it grows,
As fires dine on forests, like rust in fast-forward.
A brightly lit trail leads to an abandoned charcoal house..
The klanking of glass streams gently through the breeze,
Patterns lay in the sand, left by meandering souls.
Your arms slowly rise, a push forced to the door.
Ice falls from your skin as you rush through the air,
With a click signaled entrance, you looked up and said;
"I've been here before, and I know I should leave".
The door sighed a creek of impeccable desire,
as you gazed upon it's awkward peeling paint.
"I really shouldn't be here, it's not time yet". You whispered.
A small glistening appeared through the door, growing brighter and wider.
Fixated, like a statue in the mesmer of a glow,
You watch the door shut, and the spirals lose their light..