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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Another repetitious dream – 3 The outsider look in, from within / looking at Dreams come alive during the morning hours, long after most of the world – on this side of the sun – has risen from the fading light of moons glow and dreams. My dreams ride the steps of escalators from deep down, where – from the darkened cracks of the subconscious – voices speak – in riddles and rhymes – to the conscious mind, during those sleepy hours where depression takes hold and binds, ties one down - in the light of day - to their bed. My dreams are telling me - as I see myself – I am involved in what is portrayed upon the screens that lay on the backside of my, closed, eye lids that hide from the outside world a true view of my soul and all that is whispered in secret. Phrases depicting – as I, in states of lucidity – watch the play unfold – from my balcony chair – as I become the actor, and in this, a one man play, I am all the parts of all the characters that have danced, strutted, pranced, crawled before these eyes. Eyes that catch the essence of the story but not the subplots, nor the beginning, the middle, the end, or what lies between the lines set within the heart of all the prose, poetry and rhymes. And so, as the outsider looking in, looking at the insider looking out, comes from within, is the script writer, the actor, preforming all the parts, with all the nuances projected, that awake, never comes to light, except in small flakes, specks and flecks upon the mirror he hold, reflecting the images of the child, the boy, the youth, the man, the aged. The strange world of dreams !!! B. J. “A ” 2 June 19th 2005
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