A poem
Oblivion, dark velvet
folding scenes that defy sense,
and time that is not relevant.
Ogres and lovers intertwine,
their relevance irrelevant
in a world of fantasy.
Descending drifting sleep, where
first thoughts become last ones
then just not at all.
A weave I can not unravel,
with patterns stitched
by life’s unapologetic hand.
Adrift on waves of slumber,
cresting, crashing, pulling.
As logic fades, reality bends
and dreams take shape and blend,
freed from consciousness’s keep.
Floating through worlds with
rules discarded,
mysteries to explore.
Surreal scenes unfold
behind each metaphoric door,
but come morning’s piercing light
dreams will fade,
leaving remnants of their art
as impressions in the waking mind,
which I struggle to piece together
from the broken shards.