Princess of the golden flower
the sunlit tower.
A bastion of light
watch the birds take flight.
Hour by hour
she sits in the tower
all day long
praying for him.
He cowers behind moon
dark shadows dance
in caves the goblins prance
the orcs stroll.
They burst through the pavements
unseen like fantasies we dream.
We are the dreams
the fantastic uncertainties
the quaint English towns
the dives the drips
out of reality we rip.
We are the daydreamers
the people who read stories
think stories, be stories
but be ridiculous,
inconspicuously mad
drifting tripping
saints who sin
the madness always starts within
as does imagination.