Dreamer and the Dreamed
What am I to do in the dream I have spun,
where I am both maker and made in one breath?
No step I may take is beyond what I’ve traced,
no voice in the dark is but echoes of mine.
If waking depends on the knowledge of chains,
then does my awareness unravel their weight?
Or is it unknowing that loosens my binds,
a fall into nothing, where none lays a claim?
Yet if I am both the deceiver and fooled,
then who is the voice that is calling my name?
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