The Rake

The world is overcrowded, but the dream world
will never be overcrowded. Drag this world again and again,
and no ecological floor will be harmed.
     The epic battles have all been fought.
     There is no need to finish them.
The rake has been sifting through the decomposition for eons now.
Your players grow scales over their eyes until they drag
their fingers over the hewn stone of ancient fantasies.
I will turn your half eaten swords into ploughshares.
I throw dice with the neck of a philosopher.
The dice tumble into the valley of my soul.
The ocean pulls me between a language and a word.