What defies the senses is music to a madman
Without a song or a cry to heaven
On the edge where lie a thousand broken mirrors
Cast away by we who gazed upon the truth
And hid beneath a cloak of suffering to escape it
Yet one remained atop that wayward place
In communion with the wind and rain
A word of transience ever on his lips
For those who went there and passed on
Below him lies a world of shattered time
Lands that wander, dazed, to a walled-off horizon
The limits of a limitless plane calling softly for ascension
It is a gentle message carried on the starlight wind:
Follow the madman to the place beyond the wall

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I picked up a copy of The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury. It’s been a while since I last read something by him—the last was Something Wicked This Way Comes. I’d forgotten what a massive influence he’s had on my writing.

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