There are false idols in my room. There are false idols in my head. To idols, I have lent my life. To idols, I have lent my bed. Statues of the world I seek, Semblances of what I know, Truth has burnt its image here, But ever floated on, its glow. Holding tight to broken dreams That crumble-crackle as I clutch, I could have built them pinions fair But I have strangled them too much. Now fresh lucidity is here To wake me from my sluggish sleep Oh, glorious sanctity of light Your mindful meaning I shall keep.