Monday 3 December 2012

Tales of the Dreamscape - Treasure House - Part 1

The deepest cave in Dreamscape’s shifting land,
Beneath the wondrous home of Duke and consort,
Contains the greatest treasures that the world
Has ever known, or dreamt in midnight hours
When the moon is low, and the stars are free and twinkling
In the cloth of softest night and darkest sky.
Wherever gold has glittered, silver shone,
The cave of dreams is there, gently waiting -
And all your treasures are contained within
Where all desires begin.

And when the wind blows cold from northern climes
With diamond snow from Dreamscape’s farthest shores,
The proud and lordly Duke of Dreams trembles,
Seeks refuge in the cave of ancient trove,
Wandering winding ways among the gems,
That shift their forms as the dreamer lingering stares.
He finds a treasure never seen before,
Inspects it with his bright and piercing gaze -
The choicest prize your mind has deftly wrought,
Is there as solid thought.

* * *

In an ornate golden frame, heavy-set and dusty,
Hangs a blank canvas.
Always white


And even if you take your brush and splash it all with vibrant colour, overflowing daubs of viscous oils -

You turn your back, or blink your eyes.

And all is white
And blank.

* * *

In-and out the needle stitches
All around the cloth of night,
Binds together patches woven
In the dark and out of sight.

In, the needle pulls the thread now,
Out, the point and then the shaft -
An entrancing dance it follows
Beneath the thumb of weaver’s craft.

Behind, the thread goes on forever,
Conjured strands from Dreamscape’s web,
Never knowing threat of scissors,
Even at the lowest ebb.

Nowhere Atropos to cut it,
Lachesis does not measure out,
Only Clotho spins eternal -
The dreamer does not fear or doubt.

The Duke of Dreamscape slowly pauses
Here among the cave of riches,
Watches cloth get drawn together
By the endless needle stitches.

* * *

Here the Looking Glass of Could-have-beens,
The might-have-beens but never-weres,
Into its polished depths you deeply stare
And gaze into its tarnished heart,
Who you were in other lives
The ways and paths you never walked.
Your gaze is ever held, and held forever you gaze.
Entranced by the road you never walked
The endless wave of other lives,
A prison grows inside your heart -
Nothing else can compare, and on you stare.
And so the Duke resists the never-weres,
Walks by the Glass of Could-have-beens.

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