Dreams are both perplexity and marvel, I’m still learning to understand how such wispy fragments of subconsciousness, subtle forces of will so intrepidly insert themselves into a memory or thought as though it actually happened, or…could. And how the mind so ably creates such vast space to transcend, to exist within, to unify with imagination. …
I don’t really write poetry. Just past dreams, future thoughts, affirmations of presence; memories of today created in each moment.
With just a simple thought, the firing of a synapse, the striking of nerves, the launching of cells, power emerges. The power to create – willed with only an unspoken command… rawness and rarity. The epitome of true talent; How beautiful the mind is that even subconsciousness affects reality. 18 September 2019
Filling up journals with wanton words of want; on nights like this one where sleep evades drifting awareness – Unbidden, like goodbyes and the duskiness of approaching sunset.
I braid life into my hair – each length I add [is] potential, no telling how far I’ll grow.
I don’t remember my dreams sometimes I wonder why. Dare my subconscious hide from me? But, no… I’m comfortable with my own shadows, too. the dreams I can’t recall are the ones I miss missing.