The story is writing

You are being written.
maybe when all the noise is gone, the music shall make sense
all the dance shall stop one day
you shall start walking on a rather crumbly stage that smells of mothballs from past musicals
silver dust doesn’t last very long, even for people who never believed in anything but war

war and music make for a very strange marriage
one day is the day when the universe shall finally stop
and everything will be silent
you will stop dancing then
walking the old roads will be a thing of the past because the stars will shine down with a pathetic light
then you will want a war, a dance and all the other things that ran away when the skies shut down
they ran and they ran until they came to you
or atleast they thought that they came to you
it was only a wooden box that looked like the lost sky
the whirling slowed
and slower still
and slower and slower
and maybe softer too
you looked for the rhymes but they weren’t there
it all crashed and burned
so how did it roll when the dying star winked out
winked out for good
some of the debris trickled down to where I was sleeping
laughing all the while
are you still waiting for the anarchy to shut up?
then the plans will go up in smoke, just like the crumbly stage where you used to sing and dance for the mad masses
look the light is fading just when you thought that it would last forever
but you always knew that forever never lasts forever
forever is just for the time that you are laughing out loud
the tinkling sound that it makes reminds me of a bad bell that rung at noon time lunch