Fritz Crytzer Poet Prose Poetry

The Crystal Palace

THE CRYSTAL PALACE


The gods awoke, as they occasionally do,                 
and found Fred Cross in multitudes, alone.           
Unconsciously aware of their unblamed fault,
they dreamed for him an appropriate abode,                            
a crystal palace flawed through and through                         
with veins of earthy, dark hued stone.                                  


Sequestered by battlements of coldfiery ice,                            
concealed, it towered over existence below.                            
Fred Cross, through mirrored portals viewed                              
the warm chill of life from his lofty abode,                     
and despairingly content he quite often died
exploring the chambers of his intricate home.                             


By midnight's blaze through vacant corridors                   
he paced, stumbling on cobwebbed unrealities,
and contemplated empty passages scrawled                                
in volumes shelved in wormwood libraries.                         
To bed he went at darkened dawn, tired by lore                             
read studiously of man's strong willed frailties.                 


On sunset mornings he slipped boldly outside                      
to sense the roses he could not smell, to bare
his soul to one who cared.  But alas, he could       
not find a single one of all those there
that knew him well enough to share.  He cried
and fled to his castle gate, hopelessly secure. 


The gods returned to their perpetual rest.
Fred Cross lived forever in a palace of death.

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