The Dead Life

“The Dead Life” (Sleep is the Sister of Death, so I am told) Wake every morning take a break from death. From the life I live inhaling immortal breath. Uncontrolled vision of lives lived in my head. Most nights are dreamy, some nights are sad. Fears of our days under lights brightly shining. Return to us in quiet of solemn memos reminding, _ ponderings of undertakings stood above ground. Distant plains amid hasty travels vastly abound. I’ve drowned many times almost in the same place. Searched for mother who vanished without a trace. I remember this building, vaguely the name of that street. Rippled roads, posing people, infirm ground Beneath my feet. Of curious consciousness, tis fateful demand whilst I sleep. Wander as a babe in the woods, it’s meaning Lost as sheep. (If I live the life above in the valley of Death as such, I am doomed to be a restless soul. So far I’ve learnt to not go/turn back it causes the ripples in the road. Keep moving forward. I must remember this upon my return!)