Surfaces as though the day draws near,
Yet I know it does not. That primal guide
Serves only to misguide my dark nightmare,
And all the while I twist and writhe,
But I cannot escape him.
And so I call the sword of faith
To that black demon rend,
And there he drops upon his knees,
Fading into the burning ground
As if he were but a shadow.
In the distance, the cloud puffs dance,
Reminding me of wispy thoughts
Thought up by the waking day.
And the waking day seems but a dream itself,
Lost in the infinity of possibilities
That are realities now.
In the East a fire burns,
Resounding joys of eminent despair.
And the air around me is leaden,
Beaten into the very fabric of reality
That can never be the real world.
I love it and I hate it all the same,
For here I have governance over my fears,
And they of me, and everything is simple,
Part of a greater whole that no one can deny.
Here we call the dreamscape, and here we never waken.
8/4/04
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