A Hundred Years Of Dreams (from Awakening)

The woods reach through my window,
Branches break the glass.
Their tendrils trail around my bed,
Where no one else may pass.

Leaves fall on my pillow,
To scent my golden hair.
It spills onto the floor
And there entwines
With roots and vines,
They twist around my leaden limbs
And climb with ivy
Up the walls.

My blanket’s weaved with blood red roses,
My fingers’ pricked with flax and thorns.
I rest in this,
My sleep-cursed crib,
I’m waiting to be born.

I tire of my slumber,
A hundred years of dreams.
I see such things behind these flickering lids,
Inside my silent world, I scream.
Tears leak out of eyes shut tight
And trickle down my cheeks,
Like sugar water.

My damson lips are ripe and full,
I murmur and they part.
They’re ready to be tasted,
By the one who’ll come,
To wake me,
To take me, to his heart.
I yearn to be awakened,
I’ve slept too long now, in the dark.