Where Ideas Begin

No leaves do dance upon my palm,
I hold no song of elves.
Yet human voices rouse it sing;
(They let go of themselves).

The silk thread sky, the marble moon
Empty of their glow.
Only dreams do whispers fill
Of sunsets staining slow.

(This world of magic,
Our world of lore.
And all I've told,
I've seen before.)

Coral sunrise, the murky seas
Where no fish blinks an eye,
Feeding on the broken tap
At the end of sky.

(I've seen this happen,
It's happened before.
Perhaps each day,
Perhaps of yore.)

This tap, it dries upon the sun,
And then they'll wake and see.
On a bed of fading rose,
There the riches be.

"This is the song I've heard before.
These lines known, there will be more."