Some people can become but fairytales cobbled from our moth-eaten memories A balm the heart conjures to sooth what ails Deities housed in tower Ivory Snippets of conversation turned gospel Repeated in moments of doubt and fear Into something deeply alchemical The most mundane of moments we hold dear Well worn paths in the labyrinth of time Littered with broken hearts and ecstasies A secret folklore that is only mine Metaphor untouched by all brevity Memories of Memories transformed An inchoate play script left unperformed
