My head falls back-
through a cloud,
as darkness migrates across the border
that separates the state of my mind, settling
down for another night.
I am a castaway;
marooned on the shores
of my unconscious world
where the sun lies dormant.
waves begin to roll like a camera,
and images develop with speed
shooting out from nowhere;
(but stored somewhere).
I scroll through abstract stories, that stem from
the banks of my memories
similar to a pop-up book, however colours are diluted
to a shade of monochrome
with no script.
Blurry scenes unfold, rich in peculiarity-
pictures are bountiful with such bizarre tales,
although many visions touch boundaries of clarity
with a vivid texture of reality
especially unexpected guests who rummage
around in the archives
showing their faces..
..even former partners, can be seen snapping away
the feeling can be so profound. Evocative in nature, with
sensations that ripen, with vigour.
Often I’ll tumble through the air,
feeling a draught of realness-
my pulse races faster than a runaway train
carrying my heart as cargo.
I've read thousands (only a slight exaggeration) of poems about dreaming Michael ... but I can honestly say that this one most closely reflects exactly how my dreams are and feel. Just brilliant! Clever man! :-) x