Tales of the Dreamscape - Treasure House - Part 2

Part 1 is here.

The staff -
Symbol Unreal,
Topped with serpents’ feathers.
Blood is in their eyes and hearts -
They fight.


* * *

For escape eternal we still yearn,
From words of pain and worlds of hate,
The corroded key has one last turn.

The passion, the craving, still they burn,
We rail against the Dreamscape’s fate
For escape eternal we still yearn.

The key itself has one concern
To open up each potential gate -
The corroded key has one last turn.

Before we choose, we still must learn
How our hunger we can sate -
For escape eternal we still yearn.

The last door we have yet to earn,
How can we sit, and pause, and wait?
The corroded key has one last turn.

But the edge of the door we can discern,
And pray it won’t arrive too late,
For escape eternal we still yearn
The corroded key has one last turn.


* * *



Sword of decision
One cut slices all in two -
Longed for ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

* * *


The crystal orb always shows true,
Deep into the heart of things,
The voice inside that softly sings
Of me, and us, and you.

The truth that lies behind the words
The frown behind the smile,
Cutting through the layers of guile
Through all that is absurd.

The true-sight orb is the finest prize
The chief of Dreamscape’s hoard -
Beyond cup and jewel and sword
Is that which rules the eyes.

For with the gift of deepest sight
Can be found the kernel of the dream,
The fears and hopes that surge and teem
In London’s deep-set night.

And yet the Duke is loath to hold
The globe of clearest vision,
Each gaze cuts a deep incision -
The glimpse of pain and cold.

Beneath all the true-sight’s view
Is the tinge of Dreamscape’s end
The withered death of every friend -
The crystal orb always shows true.

* * *


The Duke of Dreams returns to castle warm
As bitter wind moves on from dreamer’s climes.
The glowing treasure warms his troubled heart
But still a frost-rimed sliver chills his soul.
Though boundless power deep resides in all
The golden rings and gem-encrusted crowns
That lie and wait and glitter in the darkness;
But all are deeply bound to sleepers’ dreams.
Growing strong the bitter wind blows -
Whispering - all things come, and go.