Ticking clock
Fate
The clock has ticked
Its last
And cast
Its spell
Rung the
Alarm bell
Helped fate
Take its grip.
So we
Slip
Into the
forbidden forest
Glorious
In the
Gloom
Glorious
As the
Monsoon
Sweeping
Through
Our minds
As we wait,
Blind,
Assigned
A path
Not of our
Choosing
Just bruising
And ripping
Apart
Our dreams
Deemed
Too highly sought
Too easily bought
By others
In the game of life.
We wait outside
The door
Faces to the
Floor
And are
Never
The same
Again.