Dream No. 3

dreams, Internal Poetry, Line Poetry, Poetry, Problems, This Doesn't Feel Right

In my dreams last night,

There was fleeting sex with an evil person whose feel I can’t remember,

On the second floor of a bunk-bed in front of a Netflix screen.

I don’t remember courting, nor the catch-up about what happened after doing each other wrong,

Merely doing each other.

There was snow on the ground,

As if this presence passed through my security

Because I never let go of them in the first place.

I do not feel disgust looking at this,

I stare only with blank eyes.

I need to consult this with the film over my corneas.

What are you doing there in the first place?

I look at my bed, empty in reality.

What were you doing there in the first place?

Dream No. 1

dreams, Internal Poetry, love, Peace, Uncategorized

I can be a nice blue sky,

Waking from a dream in twilight.

The park is quiet, sullen like an old war story

And I’m  part of many- lovers, tacticians, fighters, musicians

They’re all coming to the crown in the green grass, this floating tablet

The shakes the earth upon its flight.

My robes are threadbare, but I am garbed in seven gorgeous notes.

The wind scatters myself from the swaying grasses,

All the way up the earthen spiral to our crown.

How did I grow to love you so?

I suppose it’ll only answered in the logic of a dream.

But those seven notes speak it louder than my subconscious ever could.

It’s an unconscious spell,

A lovely incantation on the eighth hour.

“I can be a nice, blue sky.”