The gravel jumps up off the road in my personal polar shift.
It hops and cavorts while springing higher and higher.
I can only watch from the audience, as I am not the writer.
The gravel leaps into the air, a chorus line of fine-ground stone;
the rhythm beats in crisp perfection, stretching to the sky.
I sit in the first row of my eyelids, focused and mesmerized.
Sleep deprived, I create the scenery for some late- night show,
that will play out in unconsciousness, when wondering why I dream.
I ponder who writes them after-all, to cause this endless stream.
Then like a vision in hallucination, the milled stones turn to pines.
Trees begin to morph from brown to green forming tall and rising,
higher than rocks could ever yearn, they stand materializing.
I hold my breath, sweet vision? or bad symptom of my health rundown;
I do not care. All is a gift as the trees cavort and jump to the gravel’s surge.
Standing majestic in throbbing color, they exist, while the gravel’s being purged.
Should I worry as this continues on with trees becoming soldiers?
Should I promise to sleep 8 hours nightly, in hopes I’ll never see another pine?
Perhaps the soldiers darting through the trees and all in flux, could be that sign.
Maybe I will find the time to write dream-plots for every shifting scrim.
Like a V.I.P in the balcony, I pull myself away, as sleep now comes a- crawling,
with visions speeding on and up, I start to slip into a deeper dream that’s calling.
October 4, 2014
And here you have said it once again Khaleesi. From the view of the writer. A gift from the unknown, given to only a very few of the talented ones. Beautiful!
Thank you Hoyt for this comment. I cherish it!
A wonderful vision, Karima… from that realm between eyes open and real sleep… where you are still able to convince yourself “I could open my eyes and stop this, if I wanted to”. Maybe you can, and maybe you can’t! Instead, while you can, you try to steer that vision toward something that makes some sense to you… but that takes more effort than you have left from your busy day… and the wonderful vision returns. Wonderful, only in that it isn’t your own conjuring. Maybe its something you want to see… but maybe its not.
Fixes some hot cocoa and places the cup in sleepy hands… reenforcing what you’ve already been told a hundred times before… “It was only a dream, dear one” ;o)
Wow..what a beautiful comment you left here Shesa..it is a poetic thought in itself:) I love it.. Thank you for celebrating “DRH Day” today.. I love and cherish all that you have to say:) and PS your own beautiful imagination is showing here too:) Hugss