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.
Copyright © Michael Kalavik | Year Posted 2021
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