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.
The Fountain.

How wonderfully macabre…
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