In the days of idleness, swirling night skies in blankets,
smothering the planets afar but leaving the faded white glow of moon
poking its head through.
Staring at ceilings waiting for the chimes of a passing hour…hours
the echoing ticks of a small hand, around and around
Gradually, paths twirl, twist into being on the plain walls,
they lay themselves down and wrap drawing eyes, reaching out for you to follow
Slowly you weave, trail along the path, suddenly things begin to appear
grass that sings, creatures, characters appear with greetings, warnings, words of harshness
you find yourself with rules, you were never taught but know, like a dream.
Here in this place you know you can fly but you can’t breathe water, you find you speak languages you’ve never heard,
as old as time but a tug at the back of the mind tells you no, it’s new before the string is cut and everything just is.
Then you blink and it’s the same plain wall, everything that was there, were you stood, walked, breathed gone
but not completely…it’s still then caught in a jar like fireflies in a cartoon.
Ready, waiting, for the world’s stories to be told alongside the others sat on rows of shelves.
Sarah & Her Voices 