The victim returned to a painful bliss...
Beyond a forest whence wind whispers,
Amidst harmony and her sisters,
Among vast land and alluring shadows,
Stood a lake house in a deserted meadow.
It cried a hymn, a cunning calling,
To the one who found it deceiving; appalling,
“Thou hast thieved thyself of this,
Thou must return and reminisce.”
Temptations were of the victim’s least interest,
For long has it been defiantly distressed.
Never did he intend to return;
He cursed the lake house and wished it to burn.
In the depths of the darkness it was craft and built;
Its foundations were made of corrupted black silt.
But in the forgetfulness of hasty promise,
The victim returned to a painful bliss.
As he took a stroll down ignorance lane,
The path of the previously spiritually mundane,
He glanced at the view; wretched, wretched view.
Alas reality struck, “Curse you! Curse you!
To be lost in this place I’d undoubtedly hate,
To once again be in that inhumane state!”
“So run, victim, run; thou shalt not be free,
Lest thy fate falleth in the hands of destiny,
Return to the lake house, return to me.”