The Under Water
Dreams are being dreamed
in the fog, tonight
I am a wanderer. Lost
with Fish Ghost’s, sleeping
under the sea.
I have forgotten how to breathe,
not quite forgotten -
It is destiny that calls me.
Wake me up from this walking dream!
Windows here are lucid paintings, in my head
I step into acrylic gardens, abstract
daylight, fading from realism,
a genuine art.
I am not free.
The glass captures me;
a rock spirit holds me in, forced air
thick like the sea, I cannot breathe!
And dreams are being dreamed
while the fog rolls in, white cotton torment
filling my lungs, I choke on
the Ghosts of Love, Envy, and Trust
while the dreamers
sleep with safety locks on their throats.
Where do they sail off to in
their midnight ships?
To the high deserts of the moon?
To the warm geysers of the North Star?
I want to close my eyes and follow
their pretty foot prints through
Sand Man’s castle and out to rest high
I want to be cradled in a comfortable Mother.
I want to swallow the Milky Way
without choking on Universal Decay.
I want to dream what the sweet dreamer’s dream,
instead of sinking deep
into the black cold of the under water.
Posted on January 24, 2013, in Poetry and tagged anxiety, art, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Dreams, journal, life, Literature, mental illness, poetry, Stars, Water, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 22 Comments.