Meghan Holland
I pray your words I read are not a lie
“But it is next time!” The children cry
So reverend won’t you please?
Listen to their pleas
Tell us once again
That timeless tale of wonder
Or must I find it in the end?
A story sweet and simple
For a dear child,
in memory of a summer day
A story to be shared in circles
Not left to decay
Yet you’ve left little record
Of those early days
Papers burned, washed, and tossed away
A legacy in disarray
Poems, puzzles, letters, clues
Written in a lovely violet hue
It’s what little remains of you
Upon the midnight hour
Specters gain back their power
Once again before me you stand
Holding an offering in hand
Your image no longer of brilliant youth
Tis now that of an aged and selfish recluse
Offering up your diary
One of four still hidden from society
Yet with no page omitted or torn
Still doth not the Angel blow his horn?
Calling you back to light and love
Like the peaceful wings of the friendly dove
Or with that twas torn cast you below
To writhe in fire and thorn?
Leaving me to ponder over a mystery
And your long forgotten history
Oh dear dodo mine
What did you leave behind?
I’m poring over the fading pages
Learning of ole warriors, saints, and sages
From long since vanished ages
And it seems you’ve joined their rank
Yet you and Rev. Hutchinson I must thank
For a poem and tune I hold dear
As it’s helped to quell a fear
Giving hope that ones loved might reappear
For as you said, “…in Dreamland’s centre,
No spoiler’s hand may enter…”
Only here can mysteries be solved
And possible crimes absolved
Perhaps one day it will all be resolved
Though unto those after the mystery devolved
Though but an amateur sleuth
I hope to seek out the truth
So I’ll walk amongst those crooked and great
For in Dreamland’s centre I will create
Putting to pen a message never to be read
For a man now long dead
Perhaps I’ve simply lost my head
For a story with no end
How far must I descend,
Into your land of pretend?