The Non-Prose Story

Hey guys. Let's see what's in the ol' brain today, hmm?
Ah! A poem. I haven't written a poem in a long time.
The following is split into three portions, but the portions are meant, in some odd and wondering way, to be read together. 

...
I have a story to tell

It talks of many things

They were once whispered in the hollows

And in the early Autumn leaves

Nothing lives like once before

A life of good and grace

A life of non-abhor

The era of longlivity

Was long lived certainly not

But though time my weather and grind

This time time never forgot

There once was a maiden

Her voice a sweet harp

And in the forest glade of Nilthrein she played her tunes

Beneath the suns and stars and moons

The words they melted into air

And the sky himself opened his stony face

To hear the sound of song

The sound of heaven in leafy space

She wished to leave the forest glade

The glade of emerald seas

Because secretly she longed inside

To touch the ocean breeze

For ten hundred years the sailors would tell

Of the maiden in the jaded wood

And they spoke of her beauty with words

And the song that none understood

Indeed, she sang of longing

Though she spoke in words not plain

For though she was trapping inside her prison

She only masked her pain

The world was a window

A window to high through which to see

And stuck she was in her forest hold

Far from the western sea

...
There once was a jackalope

He came from a mountain plain

The world was his for the taking

And a traveler he became

He saw the greatest giants

Who dwelt in northern caves

And caverns very far beneath

The deepest ocean waves

He saw many other miracles

And touched the sands of time

He walked the blizzard of Grithem

And sauntered through seas of Celandine

 The lightning at The Cornerstone

Struck fear into him not

And before long he was a learned fellow

By the world shaped, shifted, and taught

But after all his adventures

Through the storm and the heat of it all

A sadness in his heart was deepened

And a secret of despair his to befall

The days of his worldly wandering

Paid off little to none

And still he was searching for something more

Just as on the day his search had begun

 ...
And now I come to my conclusion

Which lacks conclusion to say the least

But the conclusion is yours for the taking

If you can take it from beast

He lives in the darkest depths of your mind

And lurks in the shadowy waves of time

His lie is bought more often then not

And it's your conclusion he longs to haunt

For he is a sorry end to a promising life

And life that was wasted on outward things

A life that was spent in a cage of "What-ifs?"

And a life that was not spent catching dreams