never deep
it seems of late
my visits to the dreamer's realm
initial plunge
a breath's extent
the rest spent floating 'round
the edge of mortal consciousness
where worries do abound
about things artificial
that we've wrought upon ourselves
and though I float
it's not at ease
the water's cold and roiled
I long for depths not tempest tossed
where surface is the myth
a respite from the waking toil
the heart of the abyss
where free from gravity and light
imagination will take flight
and weave me stories
that just might
leave mind and soul refreshed
unlike the zombie I've become
who struggles
with the simplest sums
and wanders graceless
through the day
mumbling incoherencies
instead of cogent themes
though early morning it might be
it seems quite late
for those like me who
never sleep
© 2018 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
Inspired by an RC deWinter tweet.
