The worthy hands have broken plane…
And sanity comes about again…
The clock it chimes and reaches ears…
Of ancient many withered with years…

 Upon the shadowed sockets holding once bright portals bruised and bleeding…
Stories unfold just by stare and curious thoughts enter while reading…
The lookers…watchers…writers…many…youthful wondering, wandering fruit…
The salt perhaps and bland…they’re filtered…with odd desire to join...recruits…

 Oh the Master walks upon the waters deep…his purpose his…
Oh the sheep is I…could be?  I’ll know when I can say I’m free…
Oh the soldier with a cause who’s bowls does shake with every quake…Whose mind reeks chaos meltdown horrid…the fervent heat will mend his fate.

 Oh stay with me mine steady thought streams…star child like mind find my pattern…
For If I drift I’ll confuse worse who claim the astral planes have lanterns…
or If confusion drives the mind drips…dripping hopes… realities counter…
One cannot find truth while stumbling through the planes of illumed jib-like banter.

 For words are remedies for broken realities…
I work archaically at pleasing enchantress-she’s...
Merely the thoughts that dance on the spectrum…
Her colors are all and she moves with intention…

 Infection instilled by the very mood melt…that we feel in the real…and in memory felt…
Curious ridiculous dancing word whispers…play upon mindful…who laugh and then shiver.
Remember that delving in sanities closet…requires that the seeker coming searching with causes…
Greater than curious…the ness of the child…who by firelight, and starlight…begin…might have true sight.

So go light and stay bright or go tire by warming fire. Regardless which its up to you… Insanity is all but the color blue.  Insanities all but a lie nor truth...and thus the end of the panel of sleuths