He is the ghoul in their heroic shadows

A changeling, skulking

Through the treacherous bends

Of a concrete maze

–

He is a sign of the times

In his woolen black armor,

Speaking in riddles

When his mind is afire

–

He is trouble leering back

Past their sequined layers,  

Through the balmy colors

Of a far-away Eden

–

He is the quiet tempest  

Who lives in their reflections,

The rolling thunder

Waging war in their hearts