Dreams Of The Dead

Last night beneath the stars I dreamed,

Of a Lady fair and a violent fiend,

I tossed and turned in a bed of sand,

On a moonlit stretch of holy land,

 

Where geckos laughed in shadowy groves,

As the ocean breathed her ebb and flow,

Luna marked the midnight hour,

And I awoke to the calling of her power,

 

Premonition dissipates in the conscious mind,

The laws of reality tightly bind,

Left reeling by echos I cannot name,

Though the world around me looks the same,

 

Something has shifted as I slept,

Though knowledge and spirit do not intercept,

Slightly worried that I have missed the point,

Warm rain drops on my brow anoint,

 

I am reaching for my trusted pen,

Who knows better than I the art of Zen,

Yet ink is a slave to the master’s whim,

And I can make no sense of the mental din,

 

Reaching to my soul who knows the truth,

Of wisdom forgotten with passing youth,

My page reflects a celestial sky,

As the ink rolls free with a grateful sigh.

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