Ten thousand dreams in touch

Sometimes when I wake up I remember what I've been dreaming about...

Image by Greg Montani from Pixabay

When I awoke in the morning I found myself in some kind of a strange place that was neither here nor there. All traces of what was here when I went to sleep were gone, so I took a drink of water and set off to the east with the sun right in my eyes but my dark glasses took care of that.

By midday I was drenched in sweat and hungry and my water was almost gone but I had to carry on.

I was looking for some kind of sign or a direction to head towards. In the distance were mountains but here on the plain was nothing but grass as far as I could see and I was wondering if I would make it away from here alive. If only there was some shade to shelter from the hot sun for awhile.

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By evening the sun set behind me and I was all in, water finished, still nothing to eat and still on the grass with the mountains no nearer, but I could rest now and I did so for a few hours.

I was remembering how close we were, laying in each other’s arms, and how the dream came to be and now, so far away on another road of dreams in a distance, a flight of nowhere. Well, this is my song, this is my far away cry and this is coldness in my bones.

And now I remember another story, or maybe a suggestion of sadness that comes unwanted from a place that asks who made this and what can change it?

Darkness claws at the spirit, unconsciousness shouts too loud, too near and far too much time wasted in between what could be and what has gone as images and spaces of imperfect invade unwanted, some recorded here.

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Where is the love if it can't be seen? But why write it anyway, it has already gone. Now I’m a space between, an unglamorous wanting so lost. Images drift through my mind, of so much that has passed.

The end always comes at the end of the world no matter where you are. Turn inside away from it all, turn past the midnight, turn, on the edge of that sea.

Now the blowing turns a tide that howls to come through my door of a wind too strong to leave me this way the size of your heart &, snake deep in the raw of thunder a moment of the night’s silence is an ounce to be remembered and not to be disturbed by trivialities and always more meaning than one from the seven management centres of the word that even in Chinese it sounds good to be an easy time of it this moment’s thought ten thousand dreams in touch.

Image by Christine Engelhardt from Pixabay

But there are too many edges that come between that come from thoughts wayward. Is control such contrasts, and circles? But the mind beats upon the soul and then the mind comes and takes it all away and now we are poorer than poor and paper thin, but this is just mortality rate, an expression of fear to rise above.

There are many broken leaves here and they say there are principles in softness, but broken hearts are a glue unstuck and maths of a mourning date is no principle at all. I know there’s a responsibility out there somewhere of a face I can never fathom, and when the face breaks down whatever love there is shines through and this is why I must carry on and find her wherever she has gone, but just five minutes more of rest before I do.

Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay

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