My hypnotist

My hypnotist

He speaks soft and slow
Telling me what nobody knows
Wishing beauty into existence as golden words drip off his tongue.

He comes to me late at night
Steals into my head, stays out of sight
And creates more truth in twenty minutes than in the lifetime race I’ve run.

His words plant seeds inside my mind
They grow strong as cedar at the end of time.
Every failure shifts to seem like I have won.

I wake with echoes of his words
Filling my head, it’s beyond absurd.
To think he’s inside me,
When we’ve barely just begun.

My hypnotist sees our space and time living beyond this nursery rhyme.
He builds a dream to make me think we’re one.

Someday I’ll die before I wake
I pray my truth he’d choose to take
And find a way to make sure all is sung.

150 150 Stafford Wood
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