My dreams, they come quietly,
as dreams often do.
Tumultuous in nature,
they fade with the morning dew.
Tiptoeing softly around my awareness,
and haunting me in states of rest;
They race ahead of intuition;
I can hardly keep abreast.
These dreams, they pound gently
against my waking moments-
I wish for a brief interlude,
some bright and receding omen.
They come to me in daylight
as darkness and fading dusk…
They trouble me in moonlight
amongst the rough and rusk.
They whisper me sweet nothings
into my unconsciousness,
I’m afraid to listen closely-
It’s the truth I’ve yet to hear.
They paint vivid imagery
behind my sleeping eyes,
and then plunk me into reality
as the evening dies…
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