Beyond the void there is
a door, murky and menacing
against a wall of thorns,
and choked in vines
that whisper
my name.

I know I must reach
that door, for beyond it lies
the answer, I think-
but the way is vast
and dripped in smog,
and the bridge rots
in ruins at my feet.

The end lies dead,
and I’m stranded on this side,
clinging to brambles and scraps
of the past that reek
of desolation.
The door, swirling in stilted light,
mocks me from afar,
singing a song that
can never be reprised.