It is time to sleep and yet your image is all I can focus on.
The free floating shapes of my future
cascading through the resilient waterfalls within my mind.
And the music plays on within my head,
louder now and longer tunes -
melodies repeating by threes.
The only silence is found between the echoing pulsations of my heartbeats -
those becoming faster and more pronounced themselves
echoing my feelings towards you -
my desires.
And do I trust those age old lessons of which I have been taught?
Do I believe you to be of the devil's hand -
your soul too pure to be true -
too white to be pure?
Am I to think you are the devil's handmaiden
laden with his special tools of wisdom?
I do not believe as such -
for who am I to judge -
I follow no thoughts beyond my own -
I worship no gods beyond those in which I believe -
and I see only the evil as acknowledged to be before me,
not the undetermined fate of a songstress
or a priestess -
For as I lay here -
awake undreaming -
I think less of those dreams I have yet to know
and I wonder how many times I must let go of the same past
before it will be free from me -
let me go itself.
Maybe never -
but it's worth a try -
for what else am I going to be wishing for
if not the survival of dreams?
