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Sometimes, when we close our eyes and slumber, sleep opens up a portal. There are flashes. Flashes of the future. Flashes of remembrance.
Visions. Dreams. Prophesies.
We see beyond what there is to see. We sense. We perceive. Another world. Another you. Another me. Another vision to believe.
Vibrations inscribed on the tablets of the universe.
Unnerved, no verbs, no action taken to pursue such curves.
Morning time I inhale the rays of sunlight. Exhaling prisms of sun-life.
Breathing in, the world is painted in streams of quiet, in silence.
By night it cools in blue hues. Diverting, deflecting, all the cruel truths.
How to create something permanent? When the clock is ticking and finite? All things dissolved. Nothing resolved. And all energy has come and been spent?
I scratched my lines and symbols in the soft rock, in the cliff-sides. But the rain swept down. Washing away my evidence and longings, torrential, always tearing away.
I want to play in color. Colorful play. I want to play and color. Colorful play.
Is there nothing here that isn't just illusion? Is there nothing here more than fairy tales and confusion?
I am just an image in your mind. An interpretation. A notion, preconceived. What you infer is not my story, it is your own. And of your story you wonder, what is my part to play?