Graveyard of Reveries

a mote

Somewhere within the vastness of this universe

Cradling the cycles of birth and dying stars,

Individualistic dreams coalescing to evolution,

Epigraphs etched in large bold letterings,

At the heart of ancient monuments, museums,

Mountains, tidal waves, gravestones, digital exposures,

Autographs, spoken narratives, and photographs of laureates

Lies a mote undetected.

They seal their sculptures with a heart-shaped lock

For once discovered, the ground will rattle,

The defamation of modern evolution,

Trumpets roar, tsunamis veil the earth,

Sun rises from the west and to the east it sets,

Writing their name alongside the greatest famed 

Would be the last fuel for the world's brightest flame

To rise above every rhythm sung,

Traversing past the first impressions of Life and Death,

Sinners bow before the silent pleas

Of the birds now with their wings unclipped,

Time becomes encased in a glass dome,

Dropping our weapons and study each other's lore,

The victorious uproars of the romantics,

Knowing beyond a lover's grave is a mystical atmosphere

With their souls now whispering to their mortal's ear

In their respective esoteric language,

Broken empires surface from the bloodsheds,

Blades morph to ballpoint pens,

Lavenders flourish over the battleground,

Walking corrosions discover their voices,

How it was always stored within.

This tiny mote politely declines

The elixir to immortality

Perhaps it might not be for another century

Where some sickness had befallen the monarchy,

New species hatched from the extinct ones,

Scientifically and accurately proven fossils of impossible creatures exist,

Another pair of fists clenched,

Another bomb explodes,

Young hearts had been broken,

As everything before had been told

Voyagers step afoot in naked lands,

And perhaps that's the moment

For their sculptures be unearthed.

Seconds fly out in their window,

But theirs are preserved in wine bottles

With a message inside to each unaware folks

Breathing within the Byzantine of it all,

Entering the unzipped heart of this little creature

That weaves their nest confined in their bedroom

Momentous fluctuations of any size becomes a collection,

Every corner and angle are considered pictures,

Most would say, they could shake hands with Shakespeare,

They smile and gifts them with their creations

At this very moment, they rest their body,

The fluffy mattress consoles the weight they carry on daylight affairs,

Their pillows have made their words their music,

Through it all, it's considered as magic,

The purest form - not a trick,

Settling beside a pond and floating paper boats

In a world that demands sailing across oceans

They let the sun rise in the east and set in the west as it has always been

The world remains unchanged,

Sometimes kind, cruel, or vain

But nothing is all for naught

As for not everything is for a couple of bucks

Temptation constantly brews to be a name among nameless,

A face among faceless,

But the nameless still has a name

And the face still has a face

That nobody is obligated to show and see

Their longings had seen the light of freedom

And could travel further if wanted

For now, they seal their sculptures with a heart-shaped lock

Tonight, as every other night, they sleep soundly and just quietly carry their paradise

Even if the world wouldn't witness this mote with its naked eye.