Dreaming
By skinner_jennifer
- 1350 reads
Dreaming readily even
through darkest hours;
I cross over with just
sight to guide the way,
a phantom unseen,
going where vision leads;
taken by breath of air,
psyche conveyed in rain
that pitter-patters along
country lane, with such
serene movement advancing
on, contentment a magical
companion;
harvesting surreal visitations
for my soul, not knowing the
way to go; but swiftly guided
in the blink of an eye, whisked
away in new direction;
showing a different awareness,
visualizing manifestations that
unite on another plane and are
surely merging,
suddenly roaming between rooms
in lonely aged dwelling; secrets
held within walls, home of memories
veiled in dust and cobwebs that
connect the past.
Looking up wide staircase of this
once happy home; staring eyes in
old portraits hanging seem to hold
the truth,
Paintings of young giggling
Victorian girls with their dolls
hang by the stairs, I'm mindful
of their playful pose; with long
blonde ringlets hanging in curls.
But in the silence of this auspices
moment; I see only reflections
lingering of a loving family,
now old age and death only
leaves its mark in ramshackle
of neglect, extracted from their
recollections, as bygone days
resonance mingles with my own.
Pixabay free image.
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Comments
Those ".. paintings of young
Those ".. paintings of young giggling Victorian girls with their dolls" in a dusty, cobwebbed dwelling kinda gives this an eerie feel towards the end. I enjoyed the dream journey as you crossed over. A vivid meditation.
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Agree with Marandina; those
Agree with Marandina; those Victorian dolls gave me a Haunted Mansion vibe, but the dream sequence that moved your sleeping spirit along was woven well throught out your poem. Dreams are like that, mercurial, starting in one place and swiftly changing the scene and feeling to another, and another, and when you wake up, all those pieces of scattered dreams you might have retained, make no sense at all.
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dolls and cobwebs are such
dolls and cobwebs are such opposites, having them together immediately seems strange and dreamlike, you certainly evoke a dreamlike feeling with
"harvesting surreal visitations
for my soul, not knowing the
way to go; but swiftly guided
in the blink of an eye, whisked
away in new direction"
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old age and death, but not
old age and death, but not only.
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daydreams
In school I always daydreamed and watched the clock that clock was very slow.
Enjoyed your piece Jenny! Nolan
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Another lovely poem. I like
Another lovely poem. I like how you mingle past with present.
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