Wandering

March 18, 2010
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It’s half past twelve and I’m deeply asleep,
Half past twelve when my mind starts to creep,
Crossing the unspecified line of reality,
Looking far into the subconscious of the real me,
He takes shape and wanders about,
Turning my reality inside out,
From my memories he finds his,
From my mind he starts to shape,
Loose strands of dreams piecing him like tape,
When I awake I know he’ll be without,
Shape or form beyond a doubt,
But for now he wanders about,
Taking flight on wings that don’t exist,
He gives my reality another twist,
Gliding about in what should be night,
He flies about in his own light,
He flies to places I’ll never see,
He flies above, where he shouldn’t be,
He flies into the depths of outer space,
A wingless flight, he hovers with grace,
Now my reality is turning to day,
And I call him back from far away,
These wonderful places I’ll never see, it seems,
But for now I send my dreams.





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