“Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?”
—Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats
torn and subdued – acrid, violet ink
tapered at the edges, and squirming
against the onslaught of thoughts —
candles smoldering without a care,
the pale wax marooned on my palms,
i oversee the languid conciliation of
dreams, en route to an acrimonious
sleep — the undying tides are defiantly
restless in slighted visions, as i deign
to shut the doors of cognition, with
everyone aboard – sans all those lost
voices – departing from the ramparts
of my mirrored insanity —
Image source: Hypnagogic Monument, Salvador Dali
A slight conundrum: the title, the image, and the quoted lines refer to different stages—so I have decided to be unmindful of that.
Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads.