I keep breaking into prose
So I must cut before I begin
I ask the sprite to cast a pose
And my mind of what it means
The demons about hold no powers
Capable of altering this course
To be seen from it’s fruits and flowers
Beauty survives the darkness of loss
Raise a light, for I am weary in this sea
Waves slapping and weathering rock
Chipping away at the soul that makes me
And the heart I thought was safe in lock
To sweep away the ashes
And begin anew from detritus
Well, at least it’s not all over, this farce
Between the world before and the next
Unaware of who we ask to save us
– Auguste J. Baudelaire
Little Borrowers 