And where has my spirit flown,

Down that dusky avenue, where the wolf lurks in the sleeping trees.

The street lamps gently lay figured fog overhead,

And I hear a scream of silence,

As it seizes my entire being,

As the wolf preys on my glamorous victories,

Where beauty withstood all,

And mirrors chained me to dreams, unimaginable.

Dreams that are not borne, nor cultivated.

Dreams of a place, unlike this one,

A place where you're a slave to sensation.

And succumb, does your marrow, to these trials of vanity.

Where branches are erased from memory,

Branches of the person you once were.

And I feel as if she has abandoned me,

Or maybe I abandoned her.

So I marched right down that lurking and thirsty avenue,

To bring her home.

Where the fairies dance to another dream,

To another beautiful existence.

But where could a feeling of such purity and innocence exist in this childless solar system.

And how could dark lie in such childlike findings.

Because we all just want to hide in our childhoods,

In a dream and fantastic place,

Where we cried over spilled milk and tangled hair,

And not the painful torments of our hearts,

Where love abandoned or bruised us,

With words or fists or unrequited affections.

And I ran to him, to her, to whatever could answer the questions of my tornadoing heart.

Yet, down that avenue, I didn't find anyone I was looking for.

but this beautiful oracle appeared,

and as she spoke the most radiant and resplendent song escaped her golden lips,

and she said, "When your spirit dies, you die with it. So close your eyes and hold your spirit close,

so, not as to wound the only innocence still breathing in your world."

As her ivory gown melted into the night,

I began to see, that it is that precious spirit that we find down that cold avenue,

That is the only thing we have to warm us or enwrap us with love,

When the shaking winds chill our truths, so cold.

And I was still lost in those shadows,

That sometimes filtered in light from the fading street posts.

But I kept my secret and let people take turns holding my hand down that road.

To that place I dream of each day,

That Zion of imagination,

Where angels breathe calm into our bleeding hearts,

And we are left safe, with the secret of who we truly are.