Alchemisland

When you speak

What you don’t know

Falls like fall snow

Beneath your snout

You seek and sneak and eke out

You are a ghost inside my house

A false knowing 

A pallbearer when it’s snowing

Lifting the palled coffin with no emotions showing

His pale face, his cough-soured mouth 

White as a winter lotus, slow as gin and horribly bloated

His oblated corpse before our eyes obliterated by flame

His skinless husk is a pictureless frame, he consigns fame

To the area of impossible operations, his heart’s cessation

His last months holding together his body’s failing nation

Sought no unnatural remedy, a threnody of tinnitus 

He is lowered in form and in station, his puce innards reduced to red soup

Flame girdles his flanks, his furthest fringes flensed of rank flesh

His unwinding coil like a tornado explaining itself

Today of all days, this way of all ways, hallways the way of all flesh

Hallways of always hide the Second House, even Father Inire is puzzled by his devices

Before his reflecting gates shadows arrive first, mirrorfish apparate to make them possible

Flame reduces his pustules, frees him of thirst, his buried crate making passage through an underworld

Those expired elements, his eminence and all he meant gone

The flesh fed flames roil in a winterwind, crease around the deceased, but do not abate

His eyes recently so glassy collapse to resin like half-cooked eggs

The elements in sequence ablate him until his spirit form has pleasant skin

In the game you cannot pause, every step ushers you forward and every mistake incurs a sin

No memory card, limited lives, tough end of level bosses, everyone else uses microtransactions

Spawning in Spira, the sun peels itself in penance as it were a hot potato

Those laid low in life raised in death, his steam winds through lashing snow

He recalls dim indelible yesterdays, his tender hind parts, his lashings now

Half good at lessons when he tried but everytime his hand aloft he can’t get the words out

Struggling with homework, screams in another room, she calls him pig he calls her cow

Someone is told to get out, when he looks up he is told to get on with

These days I espy above more circling crows than Don Conroy

My fallen walls reveal my halls, that I am roofless Berry Pomeroy.