Murder

Upon the whisper of a broken chime
Comes the stagnant of a broken time
The clockwork soldiers all stand and stare
Into a void darkness with nothing there

Amidst the scuttle of furry paws
Lightning flashes outside the doors
A low-end rumble heralds a tropical storm
But right in here it's all safe and warm

The wind thrashes against the stubborn walls
Howling angrily, being heard in the halls
Rain-clouds shroud the half-risen moon
Nearby comes the frantic call of a common loon

Back inside, darkness continues to thrive
A small fire cackles in the hearth alive
Upon a majestic chair with it's back against the fire
Seats a bent old man holding a small lyre

Draped in a purple cloak he gently picks a glass
The half-century year-old Bordeaux of pure pleasure
On the table lies a long, fuchsia flask
His lifetime of work and his one, true, treasure

Suddenly there's a burning sensation within
Dropping his glass it shatters on the wooden parquet
His body collapses and crumble despite being stick-thin
All these while he kept telling himself, 'This can't be...'

The storm dies away the following morning
The birds all around seem to be tired and worn
Deep inside the castle the fire's no longer burning
And the antique flask is simply gone