After a Dream

Andrew Newell Wyeth

Painting by: Andrew Newell Wyeth

My eyes grew weary from the heat filled room with eastward facing windows. The sun continues to turn my bed into a furnace as it shines through the glass during the hottest part of the day. As temperatures rise my eyes continue to gain more weight until they are too heavy to stay open. When my eyelids close out the sunshine all that is left is darkness.

The light kept out allows for a canvas of imagination. Dreams dwindling down the rope of the pulled curtain and left on the stage is the show. But, on this day I have discovered, even there you find me. My escape in my dreams, this hidden fantasy, a place where I can shut everyone out and welcome only those who are welcome, you find me there. You’ve walked into my room on this stage, entering the door as if it’s your own. I leap from the place I have fallen and land into the sea of your arms, until you melt away. You’ve left me on my own stage, in my own imagination, alone with you melted on the floor. Even here, in my own world, created with my own mind, my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, you’ve conquered me. I’ve fallen again, not just in the reality created by all men, but here in my world, I’ve fallen again. I am a fool.

So I’ve awoke from this dream and found myself laying back down in this hot, hot, eastward facing room. And I will stay here, for if I step out the desert breeze will only fill toxic sand in my lungs. I am left with nothing but these dreams I no longer have control of. The welcomed, the unwelcome- entering in and out. I allow my eyes to grow heavy to avoid toxicity within the desert air, for the wine stained clouds that float above this house never pour. Leaving the sun to continue to shine in these eastward facing windows and leaving you, the unwelcome, to enter on that stage door.

Advertisements

A priori

tumblr_lvf67v6VM91qk3bsgo1_500

What is reality
But the interpretation of my vision
The sensation of my touch
… your touch
Vibrations fluttering to my ears
And my mind then rendering the sound

What is imagination
But the work of my mind
The images and projections of my soul
The deeps thoughts hidden
And then suddenly coming to the surface

If I eliminate the senses am I eliminating reality
Is my world any less real without sound, sight, smell, touch
Is the world I create with my imagination anything less

A priori
Posteriori

Stuck in a constant state of sleep
Dreams of the day
Dreams of the night

Or am I always awake
Reality of the day
Reality of the night