It is the pain of late nights and early dawn
the beauty one sees, yet blind to all
the bringing to life of latent dreams
a glimmering light in this dark tunnel
when it is birthed, it is life carved into the stone of this ancient rock
but something must die
perhaps these crafty hands
burdened by a tortured mind
held hostage by the things in themselves,
things of opacity
free to mingle reality’s illusions
but my hands, my crafty hands
should labor all to give this oneiric daimon a substance,
once divorced from its illusions?
day and night, night and day
one body one mind
validated by the fantasies of its completion.
But when it ends, if it ends, eventually
nuanced, more polished, pleasing
than all prior forms,
the pride of your handy work
an endured hardship,
it will slip away like an ejected fetus
and in the morning you mourn
because you are nothing,
and what is its worth?
except those fleeting moments
able to turn stone creatures into something lived
- composed by Odinge Eigdo
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