In purple twilight of REM mode
where loss of reaction dwells.
Inner thoughts corrupt, corrode,
peaceful slumber, anxiety swells.
Eyes flutter trying to concentrate,
directing bodily forces, not there.
Focusing thought to force irate
confrontation to the obtuse, fare.
The scene comes and goes away,
we reach within our mind to grab it,
clinging, we emerge and sway,
between fact and fiction we emit.
Stop, let my true dream emerge,
Not some farcical, non real jam
woven from cognizant thought gurge.
Let me spin truth’s web of who I am.
® Sep 04 2010 Charles Henderson
Catagory: The dream of self
For Constance's "Fragmented Dream" contest
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