4 am dream

All the clocks on the walls were frozen
senses stolen
blindly I walked to the heat,
as a moth to the flame,
my nostalgia for fear reappeared
in the boiler room with no entrance,
no return
to a waking world.
Behind the metal door in the old wooden house
heat waves burned my eyes, their primitive
motion lulling me into a trance
I watched with horror as the fires burnt down their own colors -
orange to charcoal
scarlet to blue ash.
Yet in the crystalline darkness,
seconds still made revolutions around a timeless machine.