PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Are you to wake me from this slumber?

To let my illusion subside and crawl away?



The cold fingers of reality dance across my skin

Playing some silent sonata,

I am here; and absent-

I want to be there, within illusion,

Where control and escape are always possible,

And mistakes are learned without inflicting true pain.



Soft whispers of sleep and wakefulness,

Body parts rustling beneath the covers,

My head rolls into a cool sensation-

Sun, shallows, and the deep.



Tugging at imagination,

Searching behind my eyes, slight movement,

Graceful exhalation, lips parted,

The illusion slips into reality, becoming past

(Imagination has no tense until the mind is stirred)



Firing, pulses, real world sensation, fleeting glimpses,

Eyes turning, body writhing!



Waking is near, but this edge is perfection:

The view of horizon from a towering meadow cliff;

Closing eyes to bring this reality into the illusion,



But wakefulness opposes, shunning the fantasy-

Stopping the gentle breeze, sweet air, tickling grasses,

Ceasing the softening bird calls, the warmth of summer night,

Rousing and arousing, prodding the mind from abstraction;

The slow tear from fantasy, illusion, dream, make believe:

The burning loss of freedom.



Eyelids pull tightly together, but inner peace cannot be forced,

The outside has seeps in.