You must dream, this much is law.
Dreams shape our lives, but mind the claw.
The visions strut a world to own,
Yet all you craft is what you’re shown.
Dreams breed fear this much is fact.
Quiet dread keeps the spine intact.
You hush the ghosts, the thoughts they bring,
Yet still they move, yet still they sing.
And should you trap them, place them high,
Contain the dream, dismiss the cry,
Then ask yourself, as glass so thin,
Do you command, or live within?
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The dream is yours, or so you claim,
Yet bound in glass, it stays the same.
You dare not let it touch the air,
For fear it crumbles, frail and bare.
You turn the jar, inspect the light,
Admire its glow, its perfect sight.
Yet dreams, if starved, will twist and fade,
Their edges sharp, their colors grayed.
And some will guard them, firm and tight,
Afraid the world might steal their right.
Yet what is left when all is shown?
A dream so small, it stands alone.
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A nightmare caged is not destroyed,
It waits, it feeds, it grows annoyed.
You think it sleeps, but in the dark,
It whispers soft, a callous mark.
It knows the fear you fail to name,
It shifts, it molds, it plays the game.
For wounds ignored will only swell,
And turn the mind into a cell.
You placed it there to stay confined,
Yet now it coils through your mind.
And when the glass can bear no more,
The jar will crack! THE BEAST WILL ROAR!
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Now tell me this: who holds the key?
The hand that grasps, or sets us free?
You think control is in your palm,
Yet silence does not bring you calm.
The dream will rot, the fear will rise,
Yet all will claim it’s no surprise.
For those who teach you how to keep
Will smile to watch you guard your sleep.
A jar remains to keep you still,
To tell you choice is bound by will.
Yet will was shaped before you knew,
And who it serves was never you.
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So now decide, what will you be?
A keeper bound? A thing set free?
The glass is thin, the weight is high,
The crack is near, the time is nigh.
You need not smash, nor force, nor fight!
Just lift the lid, expose the light.
The dream. The nightmare. Let them flow.
The jar exists… unless you go.
ImpChimp Art 