The Gleaming

At the village square we went to see
the rumored moonbeam mockery
the stranger said would finally
quench our town’s traditionality
for terrestrial curiosity.
His shadow frame upon the stage
gesturing madly, in a rage
professing every sage of every age:
“A fool within a keyless cage!”
Soon enough the crowd was boiling
a sane reaction to the spoiling
of the stranger throwing such foiling
over every townsperson’s toiling.
He turned away and—what a sight!
a dazzling show of beamy might
projected onto twilit night
in all its deathly birthing blight.
(The man unveiled his powers hence
in showing nature’s emptiness.)
Cogs began to turn and start,
turning heads that flew apart;
divorced from every school and art
that might be said to give some reason
for this terrestrial treason.
Thomas took my hand and said
“Shut your eyes—to Father's shed!"
while our world was breaking down
the universe a laughing clown
and through the streets villagers sprinted, teeming,
fleeing forces grinning, gleaming,
and standing in the village square
a stranger smiling—
then nothing there.
Bursting through the door without
we broke within without a shout
toward a dusty corner;
and huddled thus we listened close
to distant screams and further shows
rushing like ecstatic crows
into cages—that decompose.
“Father should be here!” Thomas said.
“These nightmares are nothing but dreams in our head!”
This he said—hopeful yet
that sanity would triumph dread
and so we waited while we pled,
but no help came:
Father was dead.