Sometimes words assail the speaker

turn to stories or regret.

Sometimes truth will seize the seeker

and hell shiver and forget.

Theres a voice in surf and thunder,

there are eyes that pierce the day.

None can name it, its the same at

every forking of the way

Im the keeper.

Im the guardian of the tale (Im the stranger on the trail).

Im the reaper

and the sewer of your sail.

Im no god and yet I sire by believing what I see.

Im the keeper, youre the sleeper

and your dreams belong to me.

Theres no guise to what Im giving,

I am coin and card and wheel.

Nothings lost while I am living.

No one misses what I steal.

Thus I cower, culling secrets,

as I braid the paths you tread.

I forge your fears, I count your tears

and cry the ones that go unshed.

Im the singer.

As I sing my tales unfold (times and passions yet untold):

words that linger

while theres beauty to behold.

So you light your nights with meaning, dreams like little boats at sea

time may wear them, grief may tear them,

but they still belong to me.

* * *

Im a fancy.

You may never realize (just a flicker in your eyes)

dreams are chancy

and all memories are lies.

In the echo of your whispers dies the truth you never knew:

Grief goes deeper Im the keeper

but my dreams belong to you.

Eva 2008