Echoes at Dawn

 

There is a bard 

Within me, 

I’m sure.

Struggling against 

The bondage, 

Bound by the skeleton 

Of the mind.

Yearning to break free, 

Fighting against 

The stupor 

Induced by wine

Mortified by the fear 

Of turning prosaic.

The bard hears 

His own songs, 

Reverberating through 

Dark innards, 

Reaching for light, 

Aching for release.

I hear them too, 

In sleep and dreams

Leaving no trace 

When I wake.