And, in the cradle of my dreams,
I lie like water in the moon.
But nothing’s ever as it seems,
And so I wake an hour too soon.

The room’s as sunless as a crypt;
The only sound’s my beating heart.
It feels as if my mind has slipped
Beneath the waves on some sea chart.

And, as I’m lying in the dark,
I know there’s nothing more to know,
Since intuition’s precious spark
Shall set the eastern sky aglow.

No sooner does the morning break
Than I set sail on Sacred Lake.

Photo by nate rayfield on Unsplash

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