Wednesday, 14 March 2012

In the book of imaginary beings i found you

I open the page
with a moist finger and a used train ticket ready for a book mark

I dont really read much
but the walls are no fun
And from what the Daily Mail tells me i'll get cancer from watching too much day time TV

The Words shake
and Visions Flow as i read

And words affect and direct my internal consciousness
As strange and distorted images flaunt the eye that creates imagined landscapes within
Like a twilight watchmen does escape his servitude and escapes himself within his dream

And for a while everything is transfixed
and full of fantasy and ethereal illusion

Then from the depths of my inner visions
a sight i see

a sight i see no more real than imaginary

An image lost to words but etched into my dream
Like the dream child that can see a clarity which is almost visionary
A soul child allusion to something more visceral than contrary

For am i awake or is this but a dream?
Is this book a portal into my subconscious tapestry
all i know is that when i sleep im awaken by a white maiden with no more than
A warm heart and comfortable bosom for me

and when i awake from reading i realise i dont need to escape myself in books
because i write my own

And i write them for myself.
my love
my white maiden
and me

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