…time is an illusion

Image courtesy of Adobe Stock

In the night, time is an illusion
its beginning and end
dark and dreamless
but what is hidden
at the centre is a journey
like wading deeper and deeper
into a field of flowers

a night time garden
formed of countless blooms
a sleepy fragrance
that rises slowly in the quiet hours
and without warning
crashes through the wall of sleep

dreams blossoming
out of the black ice of night
and you surrender
to the river of possibilities
the things left behind
he things sought and yet to be found

in this timeless place
they flow ceaselessly
flooding out in silence
but like the coldness of betrayal
they dance
like distant memories

scattered and haunting
slowly fading like spring blossoms
in the harsh and unforgiving
light of day
© Ann Bagnall
2015