Pellucid Dreams
Last night I dreamed of the attic again. How it sits somewhat quietly unexplored and expectant between reality and that other place Where flowers grow in unnatural shades. If you listen closely you can hear it muttering to itself How funny That a space so seemingly absent of life Holds so many eyes -quite alive- Keeping watch of all that moves within its walls Walls that appear to expand with breath, Upon floorboards with a heartbeats pulse, Housed within a darkness that speaks, Yes, listen closely and you will hear the whispers of the past As they crawl up your neck Into your mouth, asking you to speak. What is it that I should say As I stand upon the landscape of a dream? Am I to address humanities corruptions Or tell only of its virtues? I think I shall simply say what must be said Surely then the darkness will be broken. Surely then the whispering will stop.