The Fall Into The Wasteland Poem by Dan Reynolds

The fall into the wasteland

Standing on a cliff top they once borrowed from the breeze
in search of synchronicity, the pulse began to flow
Neptune and Poseidon drawing lots. Whose turn to tease
the mortals at the portal to the netherworld below?
The ozone filled the chasm in cathedrals of her thought.
Engorged the less than gorgeous train of mind.
Imagination’s freedom, still unable to be bought,
that gift so rare, that talent. Where, to find?
And so, once more, she trusted faith in someone’s faithless creed.
This chaperone, so prone to leaping blindly,
and went along with cold remorse, accomplice to the deed.
If Gods there be, she feared, they would not welcome her too kindly.