Alchemisland

Whatever takes my fancy

Nothing is a fantasy

Everything comes timely, as planned

As imagined

All over the planet black eggs hatching

Darklings latching on, dishonour to gods

Dwarves carrying hods delve deeper than should be dug

Dwarfed further by the cavern breadth, even death

Does not come here, to meet your demise is to stay

Every year until the death of time appears

Do nothing you cannot live with for eternity

I’m turning 33 next year, turtling to stop the hurt

Hoping Herb Dean will say the word, loathe my own cowardice

Nowhere else to go, can’t escape my soul, no room in the boat

For anyone except me and my floating shame, I take the blame

For every incident and incidence of ill feeling and discontent

I am the shield guarding the realms of men, quilled with past barrages.