Knots of wood with waves, and small dark places.
Places where the mind tells you that the world is fearsome.
Lines stretching long like a life half asleep,
Saluting those who take the risks.
Upon the shelf curl wires
And paper folds
Eager for more use.
Soft notes poke from a littered mouth beside
The mightiest of weapons.
A guardian stands tall and proud,
Surveying the intricate scene
Of bordered sleep.
All of importance are placed together in a chaotic pattern
Like a storm's end
Close to the dawn.
This is where magic is made.
Where myself and my dreams create.