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You’ve fed many from your hand
from lion to lamb,

in a world where followers
convince self conscious creators

to sit still as butterflies perch upon
a thinking man’s shoulder,

whispering what should be
declared of the crickets
surrounding them,

never once did you preach
of faith highly above,

but spoke of change
like dropping a magnifying
glass into a curious child’s
hand,

hoping to spot an
ounce of beauty amongst
a classless ant colony

without burning their
backs from the quest of
arrogant power,

if I could dream in
your likeness,

I would find melting
clocks with the hands
of time

spinning against
my blinding pupils

as if life flashed before my
very eyes,

I would view the world
with fragile compassion,

like a handful
of sunny dandelions

presented to
an ardent librettist

translating morning
songs of restless roosters
at the crack of dawn,

I would speak
of I as robot boy,

finding an empathetic
heart to fill in the empty space

between a cobweb
rib cage,

yet I would still believe
that you exist

and yearn to keep you alive
In my thoughts,

In the same fashion
that you believed in me.