As I drift to sleep,

I'm witness

to visions of days unseen.

Thoughts of work swirl

round these aimless captives

as they drown beneath

a mountain of tasks.

We drown inside every pool-

drown inside each shallow prison.

How can we go on?

Should I fling my raw lungs open

to fill the void inside me?

Should I release these ballast dreams,

and free my burning insides?

Would that be enough?

My astonished heart

just keeps going on,

and each round pushes on the enclosure.

How am I meant to have faith,

when nobody believes in me?

All the old patron spirits

left my dreams,

telling me the world

had changed for them too-

They said,

“there’s no place

for natural paths now.”

Locked inside hidden temples,

they wait for a fresh offering,

so they can start weaving

and crafting and designing again.

But the world’s been

automated to death-

prayers can’t breach

a horizon filled with noise;

so the algorithms will show us

what our hearts most desire.

Left alone in these backrooms,

I began to wander my mind,

and turn over the question in my head:

“These gilded whispers-

do they nucleate from

all wounded hearts?“