The Fountain.

The fountain was not as envisaged.
     The saddest truths swirled, a fallacy – youth.
Hordes of ghastly grey faces, huddled together amidst this dismal revelation.
Refraction, bespeckled with shimmering gold
     bed of coins, wishes and desires – drowned by the wicked three.
Cackling, broken neck swans, delinquency beckoned.
                                   Here I am –
Even the Deer, with eyes of glass, has come to bear witness
     subjugation of Man.
The wicked three, disrobed and anointed the one
     exposed to the rotting God – shameless.
Disciples, companions, company, all are subdued – submerged.
     Rise and bathe each other, drinking dirtied water.
The wicked three, the broken neck swans
     shriek and take their leave.
The fountain was very different, indeed.

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