Lairs

Dawn brings visions
of a door-to-door salesman
peddling happy faces,
which place the mind in a meadow
where lightning never strikes.

In a wish's heart stroke
the gremlins come
having broken the dam of control,
letting flood the incidents
linked together with caustic glow,
taking one into lairs of lament,
one leading to another,
an endless labyrinth of angst
that you constantly end up banging your head
upon fate's falling rock.

Once footstep of seconds stumble into another.
Falling at times, but not reaching the end,
merely finding the place of connection
between anvil pounding moments of stress.

By night of such twisted chambers in torturous thought
one finds a candle, thinking it is the end of the journey.

Only when you reach it,
the flame is blown out
from some unseen breath with a mocking laughter,
rattling chains echoing into the next day.