the truth hangs somewhere, still.
Nurturing itself in the dark
calm and heavy in the midnight air.
She knows it is written across the sky in rainbows and rain and the violence of thunder.
She cannot always see it, yet can in a rage of clarity. It moves her beyond- beyond thought or dis-ease
and there she can finally rest, balanced at its center.
Like the children of fairy tales- sailing a river of crystal light to sleep in the crook of the moon- who care not of falling or of waking too late, who only come for sleep, for peace.
Like Wynken, Blynken and Nod
she sails past her bad dreams into beauty- dreams that toss and turn her with an invasiveness, a heaviness that plods through her days.
She will learn them and leave them behind fearlessly, tossing them towards the sun to be burnt and made light.