As inspirations’ otherworldly breeze
Slow dreams, old myths of partings and lonesome miles
play upon a sleeping mind
Dreams are as they are dark as smoke, vaguely sensed
all still but indications of the soul
composing from the absent shapes of air
Over and over when we sleep
the butterfly is imprisoned in our dreams
trapped in refraction
flower shadows restlessly moving
The past is rooted in darker worlds
ghosts of memories, a jumble of stones, a river of stars
How much of what we really feel is left unsaid?
Submerged by the things of the day, why do we rake among the ashes?
Year upon year, this bitter fragrance at our hearts
We cannot thus evade our unlived life, the fate we left unpaid
Loose the ties that bind
sleep and wake in another world
a mirror clear of anything
Where one side is illuminated and the other side is dark

© Ann Bagnall

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