Casket of borrowed dreams.

In the busy bazaar of cryptic thoughts,
A lineage of the keeper's silent dream,
Lies a spectrum of forgone rules.
Where chaos leans inwards,
And the world begins to fade.
Doubts of self! Proclaimed upon my soul.
And the fear creeps to devour me whole.
What dream should I have ?
To open the casket of a borrowed dream,
Where I can see the glare of hope from the ripped-apart seam.
Where the reflection of the mirror does not lose its light.
And the tethered threads of bygones self,
Does not implode to doubts, but arms the self.
And then-and only then-will I make my plight to be seen .
And rest my soul, with a grounding still.
Shattered hopes and will to begin,
Seems like conjoined twins, bound within.
For I must look at life like a fragile whim,
To change my guide of self ,
And the battle within.
The murmur of veins steady still,
And chaos at heart, the battle within.