The Deep Of Dreams

How frail and thin was the night? I thought I had laid down to rest and to wonder.

But was I fully asleep if what I see is true? What walls of disillusion are laid for me?

If what I see is true then it's dimly casting a light, in corners beyond the rain and thunder.

What are those deceiving scenes of hopeful peace in a dark world which I always see?

Around me there is not a soul, not another, this the deep well, the deep of dreams.

 

Could I imagine that I fly when I leap? Very deep and much too dark to fly down.

Then a sense of falling from an endless edge, though I never felt the solid touch of a ledge.

Almost in constant apprehension and a hope that someone would intervene now.

Crossing some torn mountain that lay in shreds of rock, that lead away to wild hedge.

Like a poor, crippled figure of grains of sand, misguided and quiet, I fall asleep.

 

The sense of anxiousness that was bringing me dread, has now abandoned my mind.

I kneel to look at the trail, bowing my head I search backward for the hidden secrets lost.

The trail changes and rises high, I reach its way, but it's in the past where there's no time.

In fading blue, where am I to go, what am I to do? Fragile stone for a step cannot be crossed.

Not even aware and hardly knowing, I cross another gap outside a sheltered keep.

Staggering landscapes and onward halls find me the only one, dark mist woven into the air.

Nothing is pressing me, but nothing settles me, not a sweet slight tune, not a word to soothe.

Seeking with painful effort for something as if it was my quest to find, but was never there.

Dread slopes, hills of rolling misshapen earth, a river that never unwinds is how things move.

In the fragile images of a dream, it's a mightier realm connected to layered worlds in beams.

 

Twelve statues stand in a chamber with a hollow glow, some are dark and some are bright.

A recollection of a faded victory from long ago, now in burial of old, now enshrined in ark.

Six for the day, six for the night, and five more when all is blithe, and when moon is slight.

But too often that hour is gone like the forgotten night, yet midnight holds all in the dark.

From far away a whisper is heard when one cannot hear one's own word, the silence heeds.

Do I believe there's a lamp behind the moon, or is the moon what shields the light from behind?

The eerie plane of a strange paradise, mystified and weary, I regard the hour and for sleep I wait.

Thin as air are the colors yet they never fade, while the same light bends in a dim room I find.

Welcome or forbidden, it sadly slips away with the gray and it escapes to what is an open gate.

Silent and cautious, the sense of apprehension returns and I think sleep has taken what it needs.

 

In a world familiar, in a world foreign and alien, of place and path I'm set on unknown quest.

Unnerving is the cunning cloaked scout that means no harm. A guide that leads without a face.

In a world where my hands have no hold, any question is muted, my words have no jest.

The tale now is that the time counted is time measured that can only lead without a trace.

Into the past one can go, but it's not remembered as the time long ago, it moves like the sea.

Grasping the clouds around my head, radio signals elude me, and soon they come to never be.

But something else beckons distantly and its words pass me by, but a master knows the phrase.

A master who knows where to find the bottomless sea that holds the treasure of dreams.

Set before me like a hundred mountains and a thousand seas hence, the mass is but a haze.

Scarce yet provoking, the vision leaves no doubt but deep confusion, if only it is to me.

There's something uneasy about the way the sun casts itself, and it doesn't burn the same.

Somewhere is something I must fear so much having walked a beaten road of broken will.

And when I finally reach the shore I touch the cold of ice that hint of hidden sign and name.

Lost and forgotten, doleful I try to carry on. Are my dreams I hold what these dreams kill?

Seldom is the hour if I find them again or its shores I reach, I awake to find it was a dream.

Day is still long nights it appears to be, they come to my own realm of mist and grounds of green.

Adrift they fly, they glide by and never regard my cries and time falls outside the dismal realm.

In the anomaly of a crowd, I see them all but only some see me, I am one who is often unseen.

Never standing with those who fall into false belief, and so lost is the way, a ship without a helm.

The dream of home I have never seen, it seems unreal, until the time comes again to dream.

When the wind can bring a storm but not a yielding air, a world of feasts of madness and fear.

Still from all of that I stray, seeking only a place where the world isn't empty and dark.

Sometimes out there, though surrounded by deathly tone I hear, a tone softly melting away

  the hardest voice of judgement in my ear.

If chambers of shrine and hall are empty I'd bring candle and wreath for a simplistic mark.

How I have known, I've learned to explore, and with such the skill, I've mastered the dream.

 

Everything is too troublesome to remember and memories are so dear, one can lose the way.

How frail and thin the night, it strays near the mind's edge, flowing shallow waters over a ledge.

Return me to a place, home was it? If only in a day or an hour that in my minutes fade away.

But I can be spared the doom of whatever may be hidden in darkness, earth and sea to dredge.

I think I hear someone talk of the deep, mystified and with ease, I fall asleep.

 

 

© Iggy 1990

Working titles for this body of work were 'The Depth Of Dreams' and 'Lost And Forgotten Dreams'