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.