A mysterious set of stories,
A part of something meaninglessly true,
A renowned crown kept hidden for a glory,
Known to the past yet ever new.
A path to tenure of the dead past
Scarlet yet unfolding in different hues.
A broken piece of a goblet, a bewitched trust,
Yet ending in the truest clues.
A wilted leaf of a damper plant,
A hopeless tragedy in a mass maze,
Yet when I hope to see the brightest glance
I can come back to this time where I replace.
All these stories I recall as I say to myself,
"The world is ever expanding as itself."
And as I recollect each piece of this broken glass
I keep them safe in my heart, in my wooden bookshelf.