1
Once we wake up, exuviate
Our raucous dreams to nowhere,
And draws a veil over the fair,
And features a turbid wakeful state.
So, life's a dream without end,
Yet truest dreams are in morbid stupor.
In sleep man sheathes a sort of pupa
Himself to sub-existence lend.
Ay, why we dream phantasmal worlds? -
To be dissolved and lulled to tombs,
Get a foretaste of imminent dooms,
Wrapped in dreams' sticky airy folds?
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2
Dreams made of truths,
Yet undiscovered.
Dream horses stamp their echoing hooves
With whiffs of streaming manes in flurry.
Dreams made of threads,
Membraned petals.
Dream fireflies, dark tearing in shreds
Spin carrying their luminous chattels.
Dreams made of dreams
Man's transience redeem.
An excellent write entering into unknown dreaming. The dream state is not resolved by science. We can only do what is universally natural. Having a chemical-electrical pulsating neuronic mind, with billions of neurons and trillions of synaptic snaps, it would seem that the mind takes itself from reality in dreamtime. ++10
An amazing write! And the picture you chose to go with the poem is quite fitting. As I'm sure you know, our brains are in a different mode while we sleep, from that when we're awake. We dream to work through or process things that are going on in out real lives. There are books available on interpreting dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So, life's a dream without end, thousands of unanswered questions in our lives. we try to answer those questions.. sometimes the dreams answers it........... thanku. tony