I dream of dreaming
hungry for the wakingness of soul
the troubled waters of the pond
that break the surface when I breathe.
But I am in-between, on edge
these hollow monsters wallowing inside me
lapping at the shore with gulping sighs
their reaching fingers torn among the rocks
in search of a relief of sky
My self, my only,
come and find me
where the evening and the path no longer follow
through the starkening of grays
the water's edge dips into lackness
and I cannot tell the warnings that they whisper
from the cryings of my thirst for blankening sleep
If day is dull and night is dim
if I am empty,
what is left from which to feel I rise
nor rest, nor think, nor fear
If I am whole
what is there left to do but disappear?
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