Through cosmic gears and nebulous night,
A Cheshire grins, a mechanical light.
With wings of brass and eyes of gold,
A steampunk dream, centuries old.
Above the spires, a moon so vast,
Reflects the secrets of a broken past.
The city sleeps, a clockwork hum,
As shadows dance, and madness come.
Each cog a thought, each whir a plea,
For freedom found, or what’s to be.
A wicked smile, a promise kept,
In the realm where curious minds have wept.
In shadows deep, where
Curiosity’s flame ignites,
Alice, a vision in black lace,
Wanders through enchanted nights.
With a skeletal rabbit by her side,
And the Cheshire Cat’s grin above,
She dances through the twisted woods,
A dark queen of Wonderland’s love.
Top hat adorned, with an inky feather,
A single eye, a haunting stare,
She sips from cups of bitter tea,
And breathes the melancholic air.
Crimson roses, black as night,
Bloom where her solemn footsteps fall,
A symphony of silent sighs,
Echoes through the magical hall.
For in this land of eerie dreams,
Where madness holds a gentle sway,
Gothic Alice finds her peace,
And forever chooses to stay.
Verse 1
High on the spine of the ancient wood,
Where the moss has seized what the clock understood.
A sapphire shadow, a shifting gray,
Watches the hours that refuse to sway.
Moonlight bleeds silver on gears of brass,
Reflected deep in the fractured glass.
He is the silence that follows the strike,
A perfect machine in the endless night.
The fog is his breath, the rust is his sign,
A whisper of maroon on the blue-gray line.
He measures the moment, the tension he keeps,
While the forest below is tangled in sleeps.
Oh, the Clockwork Glare!
Two eyes of burning, molten gold.
He doesn’t count the seconds, he counts the souls.
A Steampunk Spectre on a sky of blue,
With metal wings where the dream slips through.
He holds the key, he turns the lock,
The silent sentinel of the ticking clock!
The tiny butterflies, silver and frail,
Dance in the vapor beneath his veil.
A compass eye on his forehead set,
He knows the coordinates of what you regret.
The deep blue velvet of the cosmic swirl,
Just a backdrop for the cat of the world.
He’s not a protector, nor purely a threat,
He’s the moment you haven’t lived yet.
(
The copper pipes wrap around his crown,
Pulling the moonlight to stream right down.
He gathers the whispers and files the screams,
The menacing architect of your darkest dreams.
Oh, the Clockwork Glare!
Two eyes of burning, molten gold.
He doesn’t count the seconds, he counts the souls.
A Steampunk Spectre on a sky of blue,
With metal wings where the dream slips through.
He holds the key, he turns the lock,
The silent sentinel of the ticking clock!
He sees the color you cannot name,
The blue that’s fueled by the fire of shame.
The gold in his vision, fragmented and deep,
A mirror to secrets the forest must keep.
The clockwork glare…
The ticking, ticking…
One sunny day in Wonderland,
While sipping tea and chewing sand,
Young Alice yawned and had a thought:
“Why are we all so pre-internet caught?”
She pulled an iPhone from her sock,
(It ticked and tocked like a talking clock),
She poked the screen and gave a grin—
“Let’s see what world I’ve wandered in!”
The Caterpillar popped online:
“Who R U? U up? U fine?”
The Cheshire Cat just posted memes,
And vanished mid-conspiracy themes.
The Hatter live-streamed tea debates,
With Bonkers takes on interest rates.
The Queen of Hearts launched NFTs:
“Buy now! Each comes with severed knees!”
Alice sighed. “This can’t be right—
We’ve meme’d away the day and night.
No riddles, rhymes, no flights of fancy—
Just trolls and ads and apps called ‘Dancy.’”
She tried to post: “I miss the trees.”
But all she got were angry bees—
Replies that buzzed: “You’re cringe! You’re fake!”
“Return to hole! Go eat a cake!”
She shut the phone and dropped it fast,
Deciding screen life couldn’t last.
She skipped away through mushroom mist,
Her Twitter never once was missed.
So if you find your world askew,
Try Wonderland, not Webpage 2.
You won’t need likes or streams or fame—
Just talking cats who know your name.
I am a Cat, it said smiling at her,
A Cheshire Cat, you can tell by my fur,
My paws and whiskers are also a hint,
But the smile on my face is most significant.
*
I can see by your fur, said Alice – I do,
And also your paws and whiskers – it’s true,
But that smile on your face has me all in a tizz,
Coming and going in such a whiz.
*
Still smiling at Alice, the Cat dryly replied,
You’d never believe me; you’d think I had lied,
If the smile on my face was gone – it’s a fact,
No one would listen or look at this Cat.
*
Without offering Alice the chance to reply,
The Cat went on with his horrible lie,
Creeping closer and closer, until ever so near,
When he pounced, lashed out, cutting her ear.
*
Feeling the hurt and the blood running down,
Alice said, Oh, I was such a clown,
To have ever believed a Cat with a grin,
Take that, and that, you horrible thing!
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 