Umbrage.
A Poem. Dreams. “A many a splendored thing.”
Getting wrapped up in our world where nothing is as it seems.
All same; still no peace.
“A dream is but a dream…”
On most occasions I wake…
Remembering but fragments of my dreams.
Retaining a mere 60 seconds — of my most charming, repressed, and oppressive treasury’s!
Obsessive* not oppressive.
I’ll leave my mistake.
Once again in means of my authenticity.
What’s happened subconsciously?
“Have you ever been awaken?”
Amidst a Dismal, yet ordinary Night—Seeking The Sandman or better yet craving. A most Tender of Incite.
An Impulsive Awakening…
By an unwavering Snatching of Delight. Blatantly Interrupted; surely forsaking, and
Roused by ones own insight …
“Why; Oh, Why have I arose?”
Being plucked out of a darling dream my conscience has abruptly impose d!
Dreaming to Excite. Waking to Entice?
Watching ones riddles unfold; fast asleep, each evening, despite, tonight…
