Day 301: Curator of Dreams
∴
i am the holder of secrets,
the curator of dreams.
i am the keeper of things
where nothing outward seems.
i’ll dole them out slowly
when night’s drawn its length
when you cease to count on intellect
and resign your wearied strength.
then the furrow of your brow
will, in deep slumber, soften
and the worried, wilted spirit
will pry upon its coffin
lifting earth and weighted brick
that pressed upon the breast,
to rise the eyes in sanguine sight
and embark from dark and doomèd nest.
∴
