In dreams, I move like a ghost between worlds.
In dreams, I am young again: striding through
The corridors of knowledge; the hallways
Of the imagination: desperately
Searching for answers to burning questions;
Looking for meditative remedies;
Clutching at crucifixes & candles;
Scattering flowers in hazy summer.
In dreams, I perceive the bright sun of joy
And the pale moon of madness & sadness.
In dreams my former self is enraptured
By the sheer beauty of the seasons.
I’m looking through fresh eyes that were once mine.
And despite brief liaisons it seems that,
I never really did get to explore
The endless labyrinth’s of another’s soul.
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