Alakazam Poem by M. Scott Cooper

Alabaster, Crimson, Rosenthal, Alakazam
traveled slowly under the washed out, sandy moon hung overhead
one spoke kindly, one spoke madly
the other two didn't speak at all
traveling slowly under the dark and lazy sun hung on the wall
the towering pyramids of dunes built from waterfalls of sand
raining from thousands of wooden clocks floating high above
chimes of laughter emanating fiercely from under every stone
sharp and darting eyes cursing their beholden paintings
our characters leisurely march through
a sudden urgency enters along with the tidal sea
washed and crushed so violently and delicately high above
Crimson wonders if any have seen the ocean by looking up
Rosenthal can't be bothered with any obscure whimsies
Alabaster sadly jokes to himself about the breezes of time
felt through his skin and bones, howling and whistling through his soul
which leaves Alakazam to wonder and worry, weary of all his thoughts
where's the entrance? where's the exit?
where's the beginning? where's the end?
where's the - snap, awake and upright
the loud buzz of silence in his head
'Nevermore, ' Alakazam proclaims aloud,
'will I step foot in that place again'