Mists of Waking


some of these brave thoughts are mine, other dreams
I’m sure belong to the air around me,
this early in the morning, it is hard
to tell whether it is the dreams that come
and go, washing in like tides, swirling away
to wash back in, or whether I am some
lone watchman here to capture these starlight
visions, these bright disparate images.

science would have us believe they are mere
lightning of the mind, not even the rage
of thunderstorm, but the lazy red glare
of heat lightning early of a summer’s
evening . . . mere fireflies of stray thought
flashing lazily in fields of subconscious.

David M Pitchford
3 Oct 2011

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2 thoughts on “Mists of Waking

  1. Everytime I come here, you have a nice surprise. It took a while before I realized you have a fixed home page and that I have to go to the sidebar to see if there is something new.

    I like the dreamy rhythm of this poem. Dreams, are they ours, did we make them, or do we watch them, there is a good question! Beautiful!

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