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A distant sound will wake me up; My eyelids blink open like blinds. The dream is lost, like broken smoke, But still tethered, to find. One simple breath will break this bond, That slips out of my hand. The memory will soon by gone, And drift away, like sand. Now as I lie there, searching deep, Inside the mirrored halls, I find a trace of my last dream, But stumble, and it falls. As the tide goes out, so does the dream; Its soul is unforgotten. But the tale itself has left my side, Half there; its roots are rotten. |
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CONVERSATION
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