Tubal Cain's Bedtime Chant

We are all but dreams of God, Composed of flesh and bone, Illuminating darkness with our senses. Dimensionless infinity Gets cold when you’re alone, So the Muse of our existence Pulls the blanket to Her chin. And She dreams of little puppies. And She dreams of falling down. And She dreams about Her Mommy baking cookies. And She’s frightened by the bogeyman That hides beneath Her bed, But comforted by teddy bears and dollies. We are all but dreams of God, Together and apart, Confined within this bubble of perception, For time and space are finite things Through which The Sleeper’s art Confides the inspiration For the shimmer and the spin. And it shimmers on the playground. And it spins around the sun. And it’s chased about by scientists and schoolboys And it lights upon a blade of grass And bursts upon a touch While children chalk equations on the pavement. We are all but dreams of God, A range of subtle hues That paint our waking world With clear distinctions. Yet we ourselves sketch Godly dreams, Becoming then the Muse, Imagining a purpose more profound Than one within. We are all but dreams of God. Good night.