In Sleep


Are we breaking through
our own perception,
in iridescent flows,
of uncontrollable, unfathomable dreams?

Or do we lie still,
in a singular state,
of images old;
distorted, confused and broken to suit our being.

Is there a flow here,
within this great chasm,
this darkened cauldron
filled with a plethora of lost meaning?

Or is this an escape,
over an imaginary Cliffside,
from the inevitable consistency
of Tomorrow's being.