Про одно стихотворение. Не люблю всякоразные "фэндомы", если...

About one poem.

I don’t like all kinds of “fandoms”, to be honest, but I really like this poem “based on”.
Because, like fandoms, it is a kind of response to what you read. - Thanks, if you will. The desire to leave the "text" with you at least not for long:
good books are also not so easy to part with right away.

(I don’t know where Jamie came from, the rest is Harry Potter, Max Fry, The House In Which, The Hobbit, Sherlock Holmes).

I don’t know the author.
__________________________
"Guardian chimeras.

instead of all the fanfics of the world,
with thanks for everything.

at twenty, not life, but continuous diagrams: a bunch of notes and drawings. here you are lagging home from the shift - you will grow into James, so far Jay. a jacket, an earphone with poor contact, torn sneakers, a fire in the eyes - autumn beats two bars and crawls into your backpack. summer is over - magic beads, gossip tightly, save forever, memory sets in a quick trot, awaits darkness in the city grass. it seems not to be angry and driven out - steel nerves, while they spare ...

but it always covers suddenly - with a bomb in squares and squares.

we learned various tricks - so that circus artists could not even dream of. we tolerate the departure of both the enemy and friend, we trample the sky on our shoulders. if you are strong, while you are young - what sorrow and poverty do you have?
only when the cold comes - God forbid not to have a shield. it’s easy and sharp in the cinema - the help of friends, magic, a thunderstorm ... there is an ice crust on the window, and your eyes have blizzards. if colorless, dark and scary, the exit is not visible even a mile away ...

... those who once entered the guard will stand at their post.

***
the old tram slows down with a moan, the horns sparkle brightly in the darkness. grab a bag and run out of the house, who will have the right to scold you? thoughts in the wind - easily and quickly, as if they won’t add up forever ... so they went to hell with their Masters, sit down quickly and get a ticket. the sky is alien, its idols, a verse is circling in a magical rim ... even if you are somewhere the center of the World - can it save you? in Echo things are not bad, troubles are fearless moths. here I am fifteen, and I'm in a sucker - who else remembers me that way? my death dwells in a bird, life turns to us to “you” - hey, but do you want to ride down the shimmering pavement? the order for the Order, and brother for brother, only rings in the depths of the string - the idea that it is time to go back is your Dark Side. remove the mantle, and pull off the crown, with a scaffold to hang a peephole; toss a coin to the bottom of Huron to dream again.
heather blooms in a friend’s world, but don’t shuffle - a jack is at the top. wherever you are, I hope that you know how to get on the trail.

the train flies, the doors jam, London is cold in November. if the heart is not yet broken, is it really so important who is brave here? the heading rumble - “wave of terror”, “Lord’s machinations”, “fight for the throne” ... only what fate, Aurora, if seventeen, and are you in love? cunning, brains, kindness, courage, is it scary, boy? not at all ... you can not be with the Gryffindor flag to fight shoulder to shoulder. old song, do not you know: friendship is both a warrior and a guide; the strongest of the spells is not in any of the forbidden books. a wand, a cage, a shoulder strap over your shoulders, throw a little gunpowder into the fireplace - it's silly to wait for a letter from the castle all your life, you need to sit down to write yourself. there are no spells here - rather cartridges, the Muggle code, eternal rock ... somewhere in the distance, Patronus guards the unsteady edges of your worlds. old dreams are covered with a shawl, someone’s eyes will be kept from bullets - I’m just plotting a prank, a map, rather, show me the way.

since I’ve come, there’s no getting around, the lines on the walls will show the way. a wolf trail protects childhood - that means we can handle it somehow. a trickle from a faucet - instead of a river, teeth sometimes sharper than a sword; the night of old Tales will last forever - or until you decide to remain silent. who stands out is dangerous, it’s better not to know anything dashing ... but why does the boring class smell of bark and wet moss? but why are signs and hands stronger and more transparent and brighter? Tabaki sings strange songs, ancient herbs rage in the cauldron, Gray-haired fingers slip carelessly, knit a canvas bag of lace ... if you can find hope, then you will collect it in a talisman. but why are the signs stronger and stronger, the wind outside the windows is gray and quiet; all corridors lead to the inside - is there enough spirit to go there? even though the rapids are not easy and empty, the truth, in general, is quite simple - here you become what you finally found in yourself the strength to become.
lines from the book - longing, fun, let them tell you, they say, what's on that? ...
The House never abandons those who took it, and once believed in the House.

***
I know you will say - “just books,” I’m not a fool, I give a report. there will be beloved native faces, there will be a support in trouble in the shoulder. there will be a myriad of pluses that fate will come in due time; I put the full price of my illusions into the pantries of my forehead. I know that soon I will finish all the goals, any issue will be boldly resolved ...

in the meantime, Ellie’s house is circling, Holmes is filling a pipe in the smoke. she pours tea, laughing, Alice, Haku flies - at a mile and a half verst, quietly striding at the tune of rats, timidly approaches the Tristan star, Mortimer revives the lines aloud - hey, Sazheruk, that's your turn! ... Bi