The Glass Box

I’m a butterfly with rounded wings in a box of glass in a young girl’s dreams As her heart beat slows and her sleep sets in I’m the deepest thoughts she hides within The darkness closes up the night and stars fall swiftly out of sight but dreams burn softly, thick with light amid the world she has inside. The box alive with color. She pours the fruit inside. The nector flows freely as love bright and early: the juice from a tangerine hide. She’s alive with color. She tosses and turns in her bed This passionate girl is herself a whole world of imagination in her head. Rounded wings and baubles and things and the flight of the lead filled balloon... Give me this dream-filled expanse of a life and I’d gladly sleep straight through till noon. But the best thing about this little girl is her ability to wake up her entire world She dreams alive when she’s asleep and when she’s awake, she strongly keeps them close to her. They don’t escape as most dreams do They don’t leave her open-eyed, black and blue They don’t make her wish to sleep till noon They refresh her and fill her back up full bloom. She is me coming out of my dark coccoon. And my eyes open up in my glass walled room. My wings uncrumpled and rounded too To start my ever-changing life anew.