What If Life Were Just Chapters In A Book Of Dreams? Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

And, what difference would it make...if life were just a dream,
As if we owned th' magic wand, to wake up an' smell th' coffee.
Bright, colorless houses, juxtapositioned... perfectly, and -
Standing over it you ask...'is this a dream or life within it'?

The rapid-eye produces motion an' colour with absurd theatre;
Images prompt th' great Third-Eye to identify higher quotient.
Seems th' closer we get to th' answers between real, an' surreal-
The further we are pulled into this vortex of 'Theta', deja-vu.

And, if our lives be no more than a continuous abstract dream,
What then be our next destiny beyond Dreams' timeless climax?
Will it place us in a limbo of re-runs of Nightline with Koppel,
Or...will we all be born again...in a place we have ablated?

Existence is merely an interpretation of accepted surroundings;
We sleep with belief that to Dream is to live in our subconscious;
Image, illusion, all fabrications by th' stem of our paradox mind.
And, yet, what if our subconscious is in fact our lone existence?


And if so, what be th' next dimension in th' wake of internment?




©Frank James Ryan Jr/FjR
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