The Creeping Glass

 by   Shaun Lawton

   Evening's primal tide pulls us into her darkened girth
the Sun's heat rise severs our umbilical of birth
The shade of night falls, a filter slivered into vertical pupils 
opening silent unseen gates through which a bestiary steps 

  Into this, our world after the curtains of dusk 
are drawn shut, the theater of sleep projects fractured visions
Within our skulled cathedrals while outdoors, in the great
wall of the wild, the darker side of thy lacine thrives

  Where the children are trained to walk under the Sun all their lives
and to run from the stories of wolves that are lies cried out by the elder
Weakening in power who've been given three tries at building
their black enamel tower on the landscape of dream

  Scaring the ravens away with a crucifix looming
as its shadow leans out with the Sun going down
While the majority of men awaken from their nightmare
and its compounded gravity to walk around in the lightness 

  Of their Star, each one a beast with a mask of complacency 
or a mime without individuality or a king stripped of scepter
Just jesters tricked back into forgetting to remember
they're a member of the cast hypnotized into performing

  The dream that is played 

in the cathedrals of wilderness
for the rows of hooded monks: 

reptiles watching themselves.