Dreamscapes, Dali and Surrealism too,

And what is this-
the stuff of dreams?
Is it a gateway
to the subconscious
as we've been told
or merely a jumbling
of thoughts and images-
some indecipherable,
nocturnal unraveling
of the mind, the self?
Is it a frenzied flight
of fancy
often quasi- realistic?
And as for me, myself,
dreaming
I have
flown
soaring and suspended
and I've also reversed time,
journeyed through borderless
dimensions
of heavens and hells.
I've attained wealth,
seen wars
and struggled for peace.
I've visited exotic locales
some terrestrial
others not...
And I've found
what I lost,
spoken with the dead, those
dear ones departed.
Awake,
this would be deemed
delirium,
a dangerous pschoses.
But in sleep,
eyelids fluttering
dreaming
is natural and necessary.
Even dogs dream
paddling their feet,
twitching
occasionally.
And I wonder
are dreams truly
a wish
that the heart makes?
But then, what of
nightmares?
Or is this all
like a running reel
of our hopes and fears
worries and wishes
triumphs and terrors?
Is this dreaming
some sort of pschological
confetti?
A melange of
memory-
just another
of the brain's
many, mysterious marvels?

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Annette M Velasquez

This is the first in a series of whimsical workshop poems... We were talking about dreams and surrealist artists, like Dali. In these dark times I wanted to share something light, " different" and purely fantasy.

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