The Dull Peacock

I dream about tomorrow,

The blank pages,

Yet to be written.

I should rest my sleepy eyes,

Get a good night's sleep.

Wake up to a brand new dream.

But the museums remain,

In my mind and thought.

Shabby faces, darkened places.

The museums of time,

The museums of my past,

Where every clock has passed 12.

I dreamt of a peacock,

Who hid it's bright feathers,

With a turtleneck sweater.

When will the peacock strip?

When will the world?

When will I?

Strip off the responsibilities,

The limitations.

When will I be free?