{The Dream}

Memories blur past. I’m lost in the trivium.
When the dust settles, my thoughts are finally seen.
I waken startled at the raw presence of my conscious.
Every thought, feeling and fear laid altogether in full sight.
Their only alive in my dreams, only then are they given souls and stand in grandeur like familiar strangers.
Have I been here before? In slumber I revisit places remembering them from past nights. How wrote it becomes, making seem like I’ve been there before recognizing the place I felt once before. Or was it the first time? Was that the first time I’d seen these people felt those thoughts and saw that world? How could I have known them if prior, unknown? 
Or does delirium cause vertigo, making truth look like mystery. 
In sleep I’m in another place, and the realities that sleep while I’m awake arouse and lead on a life that I’ve witnessed before. 
In the morning my thoughts reline and I realize: the sleeping conscious is so strong I couldn’t bear its honesty when awake. I couldn’t think with its broad presence pressing on my daylight thoughts. It sleeps to save me. 
They live out a play I wrote, yet why do I feel like the audience? 
To them I’m just an observer.

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