There is a fancied quiet reeducation
Borne by the dying ember flames
In a gaily evening of dull recreations
To which the knocking cloudburst dare pertains
.
A strange set of ponders came visiting that night
Rapping sharp within the chamber door of my mind
And this began the lesson, a slight shift of vision
By the obsidian visitors out on their mission
.
The softest glance at a faded polaroid
A swift knowing glare at the ceiling paint
Is my active mind rushing to simple paranoid
Or am I just dumb enough to be a saint?
.
A plaintive sip at scalding liquid black
To which my unkindly thoughts wish to hack
A finger burns, dipped in the grey shadows
Until in the butter candlelight it mellows
.
An absentminded stare at the leatherbound book
All tan pages and copper lines and senseless hooks
Yet dare that crepuscular midnight filled with stars
Entertain my empty heart of flurry jagged scars
.
Those enchanting lights dance fickle and merry
That moon of mirage winking back like a fairy
And doth faithful silence hold my whispered nevermores
Trance frozen till that slipping book falls upon the floor
.
The whistling train of thought nay stops for rundown stations
Wonderful whimsy intertwining amidst aberrant abominations
Yet, I lean back, sighing, and content my mollified soul with this quiet reeducation
Borne by the dying ember flames, and snuffed out with rest like all my troubling notions.
YOU ARE READING
Oneirology
Poetry♦♦♦ Oneirology: the study of dreams. Dreary reality intertwined with nuances of dreamy phantasm; for when my quill is spitting iridescent rainbow mirages instead of murky ink puddles. ♦♦♦
