I dream in the dusty, temporary haze of the sunrise,
Where dreams are life, and life is what you make it to be.
All the previous pandemonium evaporates, and I can see
The urge to knit the threads into a scarf, just for the surprise.
I dream because the blank canvas of my head begs,
To be filled with the morphing effervescent splatters of joy.
Only eyes closed know the brain is not a tool but a toy,
Only eyes closed realize drinking reality leaves dregs.
I dream to find the parallel planet where I understand,
Where I am acquainted with the abstruse warmth of the breeze,
And can finally fathom that forgiveness is the one who frees.
The search is endless, unless I let fiction be my command.
I dream too, of wasps, snakes, and spiders,
Of terrible nights and lights too bright to even comprehend,
But like shiny new tinfoil, I will bend, and I will mend,
It is through this toil that I find my inner fighters.
I dream in camera shots and snippets of dialogue,
Vague turquoise metaphors that fog the tunnels of my brain-
Problem is, by the morning, it’s all slipped down the drain.
And I am left, wandering, barking like a stray dog.