Icon Poetry: Sherlock

The game is on,
The east wind comes,
There’s doom in the air,
A noisy city crumbles.

Only he can stop the forces,
Only he can reverse the clock,
The detective from Baker Street,
The genius man-child on the block.

The palaces in his mind collapse and rise,
As he frenetically hunts for the key,
The one that could unlock the whole conundrum,
The one that could finally set him free.

In this race against time,
You know who’s going to win,
But what will he lose,
For the devil to be brought in.

Vaibhav