Beat out a dream for me on your drum,
With the rhythm of night and
The warmth of the sun.
Or upon your anvil forge me a story,
To keep fear appeased beneath
The eaves of morning.
Scratch a chronicle upon the wall
With nails grown solely for
The purpose of it all.
Enable a tale to walk onto your screen,
And talk of the rituals it
Has virtually seen.
Allow fables to fall from overhead lines
Installed to keep such from
Exhorting their times.
And with myth wish a star to exist in the sky
And carry us farther than
We ever thrived.
And whisper my history to me at my rest,
And cover it with a fresh
Lover’s breath.
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