The Reveller

I’d wake up every morning because I had to,

I’d sip tea with a word or two,

do I think of the dream or dream the thought?

It was the only way the time could move.

Every day I’d see the world lit by

an entity whose horizon I just couldn’t chase,

for some precious memories were now buried

with their shackles deep in my heart.

Could there be a melody that could clothe

what I just couldn’t find words for?

Could it take me back to my happy place

with the company of the one in a million?

Could it make my tears of happiness and pain

shed back to the brook they came from?

Could it trace the steps before they met

and paint them a better fate?

It must have started when the lines between

memories and yearning blurred

by the life that had had dismay,

and the sheer devotion of time to its pace.

When I had borne enough to bear

and thought enough to think,

the dream that was barely there,

started to manifest.

The might of sculpting what I’d call my own,

the treasure of subtleties I could pick

how bliss and relief spiked thenceforth

and brought us back, for once albeit.

By the veiled collusion of truth and false,

it was just as I had longed for

Do I think of the dream or dream the thought?

It is the only way the time can move.