The fan blades creaked around,
lazily following the routine,
as bartenders and drunkards swooned,
soaking their blood in whisky and rum.
None moved, for none thought,
about dreams, hopes and desires.
With souls chained to beer bottles.
They drowned out their remaining hours.
As the bar tender wiped his mantle photo,
the bar doors swung wide open.
In marched a gaint, hooded figure,
With countless children beside him.
Chained together, they nimbly walked,
their faces rid of smiles.
The remaining debris of their dreams,
still abandoned in their eyes.
One by one, the drunkards stared,
upon the child that resembled their past.
Coloured kites and strapped pants,
their attires and habits revived.
The gaint waved a concealed staff,
and cast it across the bar,
Immediately time surrendered,
and chained itself shut.
The thirty men stared at thirty children,
As the present watched its past.
Reminded were they, of all that they were,
And all that they'd given up on.
Seeing the dusty toy ships and broken compasses,
Enraged were they at their loss of adventure.
Unseen worlds and unheard wonders,
robbed from them by time,
Thunderously they demanded, what was rightfully theirs by design.
Armed with knifes, forks, bottles and openers, spoons and towels, chairs and lighters,
They charged forth, to banish the giant,
Struck they did, but at thin air,
Crashed and burned, their own wares.
Cried they did, profusely some,
At all they'd lost,
to the Master of time,
While the sun cast its shadow over them.
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