Dreaming of entropy

Dreams are never what they seem.
You in diamonds, light pouring from a wound.
Blink.
Breathe.
Repeat.
And when you wake, the world collapses.
A world of grey and full of ache.
Happy to sweep under invisible rugs.
Pushed to the outer borders of a mind twisted into believing the worst.
Not knowing now what has gone before.
Are the plants that grow from the cracks green within?
Or do they cry rubies in the dew drops of dawn.
Born from their charcoal heart.
A particle captures my eye.
Bleeding into wonderous indifference.
The state of being unsure.
Caught within the dream, beneath a reality which goes through motions.
Lies.
Pain.
Acceptance.
Staining my skin like coffee spilt on the bible.
Seeping through sacred cells and existence.
The flower of my heart is scorched.
The edges of my mind feather like angel wings.
Yet it will not fly.
It will not bloom.
It all remains caught, between a dream and that other.
Afraid of time, and of going home.
Strung up and out like broken bones.
Painful to touch, yet eager to feel something.
The chaos is welcomes like a hurricane to my door.
Hoping it rages and blows it all into something new.

7 thoughts on “Dreaming of entropy

  1. I did — however strangely — I do love your descriptions because they seem to capture so much — I often am left feeling like I want more specifics — the opposite — I don’t think I am expressing myself well enough (have yet to have my coffee) but well — their is a vague dream like quality to what you write but it captures so much feeling — but I want to know the specifics — the plot — I suppose if that makes any sense ….

    Like

    • I suppose for me, poetry is that abstract smoke that we poke our heads into; and cough out of at the same time. I know what you mean about specifics though, i’m more descriptive in my short stories i think. Hope you got the coffee, i hear it sets things right 🙂 I’m glad you enjoyed this one though.

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