Where Ideas Should Begin

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

The marbled moor, its fair faced queen
Empty of night's souls,
Only in dreams to vessels fill:
When sunrise overflows.

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

The sunrise coral on murky sea,
And no fish blinks an eye,
Feeding on the broken tap
At the end of sky.

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

The tap will dry upon the morn,
And then they'll wake and see,
Their sun will rise, a fading rose
Wilting in decree:

"There was the secret, spoken before.
Hence the silence, and sleep no more."