What is Dreaming?

Dreaming is a velvet hallway, lined with rooms of

liquid mirrors

and doors made of breath.

At the end, a mind-lantern you are drawn to,

it pulls your body with its soft tide of dew.

Above you, A glass ceiling of stars--

you push, it bends at your will.

But I've let you fall too deeply,

the mirrors begin to hum,

soft as insects,

inside your skull.

I hum with them,

weighing your hands, cementing you

with soul-fog.

the doors

are now shut,

the lantern rots

turning to stone.

You call out

but your mouth is filled with the

moon's ink

You float between dimensions

tethered

to your own

imagination chained

to your sleeping bones.

I've got you.

Yet at last, you remember,

the lantern burns

because you lit it.

You can steer the dark,

because it's yours to name.

Wakefall eventually kneels beside you,

Pouring it's pale milk into the blackened tar.

Your tongue tastes of broken mirrors,

the velvet hallway unravels before your closed eyes,

the doors dissolving to dust.

You try to pocket the fog,

through the mind forgets its own

miracle whispering that it was never there at all.

Maybe you will remember this when you close your eyes

tonight. And when you find

that hallway,

know that

I'm still inside.

You can never

truly leave me;

waking is only

another kind

of dream.