👁️ Bandersnatch 👁️
Through the Looking-Glass
Wren in the Moonlight
Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight? It appears entirely black.
The night reflects fear in a child’s eyes.
A bubbling distortion
Fear is the price of our instrument.
The brain does terrific things.
We help ourselves to bear it.
Grasping eternity in our hands
The little wren caged for its lifetime.
Whilst an Ant is reborn in the afterbirth.
Fear is not what I owe you.
It’s the demon, all of my own
Like a giant that stands on the thorns
From a rose that bleeds each petal
Until it’s healed itself
On the outside at least
It’s shaping, is not too ugly.
Behold the collection of scars
As it sways through the motions
Forever it never forgets.
Which scars, who gave the best of them
The giant stands upon its thorns.
The rose beguiled and grateful.
The power of the scars reveals
The past was real and shaped it.
Half measures of the curse of it
Neither savage nor wise
And life goes on but still, we live.
In primitive times.