Futurist

My memories are reading me like the raindrops from my diary
and the beasts within me and under
are not begging for a release - they are royal beings instead:
sitting upon their golden thrones and halls.
Commanding me to run away,
to find my own way, time and truth.
And that I should be screaming while tearing down the walls
I did spend so many years building.

And here I am hunting my own dreams.
Escaping into wonderland, hiding in the deep, cold, dark
like the scavenger I used to be.
With no idea of where the time might be taking me:
head full of silly ideas of happy endings.
I am haunting my own realms, 
creating new laws.

And the beasts, they'll find no rest.