- Books, Literature, and Writing
Consecutive Dreams (Poem)
In my dream, I had you
And it seemed not, though it overflowed
With spectrum's vibrant hue,
It blinded me, then glaring sparks showed.
Busy, blurred, and shifting
Mysterious ignorance haunted me,
But worse was your greeting
Of shallow kid, as if mockingly.
Saved by a startled wake,
Nothing more but a clipped memory,
Weighing rough weights of ache,
Facing the face numb of misery.
Air filling inside out,
Eyes away from un-reality
Shut, opened a new crowd
Of us in a state of inquiry.
Fingers on hammered strings,
Mind to and fro interrogation,
Heart locked as ever, clings
To your endearing disconnection.
I felt that I had to
Destroy and erase these doubting dreads.
End this counting of days to a few,
Only for more hundreds.
With presence as greeting,
And tipping hats with warmth of bluntness,
Without our eyes meeting,
"When?" "On the seventh." None of oddness.
Of Your Songs's blur of notes
Came, though supposedly two lines' done,
Dies not, maybe denotes
Your voice alive, with harmony gone.