If I move from this place then the rhyme will be lost

like the dreams when you move from the bed. All the lessons

we’ve learned between slumber and light are the truths, 

never making the pages of knowing. 

All we have are these caves living deep in our minds

Where potholes are many and where entities speak, on their own

in the dark. Here the hand has to steer very close to the soul

or it writes on regardless ever emptying out.

All these dreams, they’re for us to pass on when we die 

so that others can read as they journey thereafter. Your words

lit up cities where I chose to roam. A much needed distraction,

one I’ve treasured so long. 

Your mind softened the pain when I got stuck

When these caves heard my cries all alone in the dark

You lit paths for me there when the lights went out and you reached for

my hand when the rains came down

So while you are a poet who is still undead

and the clocks on the walls tick around my longing 

Show me your pages that remain unread and bring light to these caves 

where my soul is crawling.....