Sleep
| It comes like a flood to drown my horizontal mind. Images, words, thoughts and ideas not ready to be denied Places to see, worlds to create So much more beneath the surface my subconscious wants to demonstrate. Transition comes but you never know when. Its the Hour of the Wolf, beast pacing inside the pen. Dreams become form without my persuasion, Morpheus coming for swift administration Concentrate on the words that form for quick inscription come the 'morn. Hold on to the moment; mark the time. No matter how hard you try moments of transition move on by. We know the destination and the origin but not the time. Morning comes and all has been wiped away. Marker intact but substance gone. Pages flip and disappear from the line; marker still in place but only marking it's own time. Pointless. |
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