The rhythm of a dream


From he multi-verse within

I stumble into my usual discontented

Bout of sleep –

A fragment of the fourth dimension,

Trapped inside, no disguise.

In an echo of a dream –

Time, like the river Lethe,

Washes over me

And left I am here, bereft,

To float upon the river of unmindfulness

Towards the golden dome

Which glows with Synesthetic force –

A pulsating kaleidoscope of times, spaces –

Present-future-past – all at once, at last, – 

Flash fast across the screen –

That is my sleeping, ever-wakeful mind.

Like shards of jagged, coloured

Glass these splinters of a scream.

Roll in upon the tides

Of sight and sound,

Of hearing touch and taste

To wet these myriad-grains

Of translucent sand.

With the rain that never dries.

Beneath the silvery moon we lie

With the man-who-never-dies….


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