Through the eye; a silver thread,
A fragile reminder of reveries put to bed,
From corridors footfalls have already tread,
As sacred and profane are wed,
Shifting reality; separate then blend,
The dissonance to which our screams lend,
A sense of relief; a beginning to an end,
Pantomime; a charade of a soul we seek to mend.
-Josef Desade, Mirties Kauke