The gallery lies open Never letting go Archiving each possibility Masterpieces we never know Welcome to the archive of lives that could have been A graveyard of possibilities, now sealed beneath glass Self as the salve, the balm for all breaking See unlived moments shimmer, pristine and unseen Not what was nor what could be, outside the past You think dead dreams lie here still alive, ripe for the taking These catacombs of maybes cry, what about me? All you can do is listen to their desperate wailing plea Unworthy tale, sung upon dying ears of dismay Chant till you've learned to silence what you came to see Rest forgotten nothings, laid in eternal sleep Dying hope lies down beside them, cold as clay The archive of lives that could have been Shimmering moments, pristine and unseen Here, dead dreams and all endings lay Here, deaf ears chant dismay Fresh wet pigment awaits ahead where canvas bleeds in palette red Then you become the painting, blurred and undefined Walk toward the gallery of all endings so you may see No matter how one begged and pled, fate cut the thread Deaf ears bleed not for weeping souls misaligned The canvas holds them all: this is your elegy Peer beyond the curtain, farthest your own fate Beyond the veil awaits your truest self that you should be Second glances reshape the seeing, becoming what you believe Avoiding bait you can abate your hate and create The masterpiece was never yours to conceive And there the gallery stands still, relentless and bereaved The gallery is closed Reflected time is done Somewhere else, another breath's begun Leave with no measured sum No name remains for what had not become
