Inner Regions

Gothic, so chic
These luminaries
They rose, now they pose
They seek to prevaricate
To manipulate
This is the funeral pyre
That inspires
And all that gold
It weighs them down
Weighs them down

We turn away
While they travel inwards
To the centre of the soul
From the whole
Into that region
That cannot be photographed
Pinned down, imprisoned
Enraptured, captured
It is here they find the truth
Embedded in the artifice