What dreams are these
that float into my leary
subconsciousness?
Soft and filmy they rise
so I can see just enough through the mist
as I sleep; the wondrous forms
Merge and melt together
blurred and diaphanous they are as
I reach to touch and to hold them
They are waif-like ghosts gently
reminding me of some far away persons,
place and time; impossible to grasp
Entreating me to follow and join them
on their quest in the billowy fog
I touch only to feel them disintegrating between my fingers
Everywhere I turn, befuddlement
as the phantasmas glide past
my stupor, my trance-like state
A cellulose quest just an illusion
as a sheer blanket descents to cover
my translucent dreams
Lulling me back into a warm slumber
that is dark, dangerous and deep
What dreams are these . . . .
Copyright (c) 2013 Suzannah Wolf Walker all rights reserved
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