The elderly man bellowed a familiar tune.
A deep, reverberating note.
Within - Ancient riddles,
viewed through a rippling glass-scape vortex.
A hand lays within, facing skyward.
Three fingers extended,
Most cumbersome of visages.
A rune which means 'voyage' tatooed upon the palm.

A shift in tone and verse sets a different pace.
the hand holds a cup.
Society,
sweet elixer.
Tainted by years on an open shelf.
Dust lies as a covering on the surface.
A vintage year, sour in it's old age.

Ripples snap taught.
mirrors turn to stone.
The gentleman steps forward,
a single coin flipped into his hat.
With a resigned sigh,
placed his hat on his head.
He merged with the crowd
with an ease that seemed out of place.
Left in a wave of sorrow;
What was (perhaps) had never been.

-Michael Hampton