Sleep

--by Justin Smith

We silently shed our garish masks--
Forsaking Day's unfinished tasks.
Like Actors retiring backstage--
The shadowed forge of Time's next page,
To there reclaim their true estate,
An unbounded power to create.
The blind see; the lame walk; the numb feel,
As Dreams declare all wounds unreal.

Ed: Justin Smith can be reached at [email protected]

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