Sold For A Song Poem by Patti Masterman

the bones of the doors in some parallel worlds,

I take hold and swing but then they fall apart,

to fly toward dimensions I never suspected.


the leaves of the heart where you've never trespassed

fold open just like a mechanical clock,

all gears and cylinders driven by time.


it's too late when the bones disperse,

it's too late when the clocks stop talking-

caught in the wake of something immense.


help me wake up, I’ve been sleeping too long.

help me wake up, we’ve been sold for a song.