Dream Keeper

Let that page come out of you?

Then, it will be true.

Me? Not so.

I sing and pray in poem, I never yet perform.

I write the text and breathe the passion, yet never voice mine born.

I? Not I. I tread angels’ wings and under beetle’s feet,

But walks like normal a man across Poe’s brittle beach.

I spit thirst at God and ponder thoughts of fools,

But seldom will I deliver script from my poor weary soul:



The waters of my dreary heart stir in expectation

Of things of past, things to come, and bodies in participation

Nobody in particular, I’m the newest breed of mortals.

I cower under peasants, and tower over royals.

I breathe, think, and meditate on silly aimless thoughts.

I care not of love, yet practice every instant.

I have endless wit; will never choose to use it.

My greatest sin, I never seize the moment.

I spend more time pondering the thoughts of you more than the thoughts of me.

I stare at walls, pray in dreams, and flirt with inner freedom.

A shield, I don’t see you, you don’t see me.