Shards of a broken reverie lay scattered around my feet.
Laying there, decaying there, their shadows growing meek,
I call upon, I whisper to the glass of my dead dreams
"Why are you and how are you?" my eyes roll back to sleep.

For in my dreams the planet seems a fraction of itself
And in the seams of sleeping tease I tend to find myself.
I'm standing there, devoting there, fighting for myself;
I'm seeing things, revealing things I wish I could have felt.

But in the shrouding abstract I know one thing for sure;
I know I see the things I see for no reason at all.
But, still, I need to feed the seed that is my overture,
To feed the reeds of all the deeds done in my shadowed gall.

Shards of a broken reverie lay scattered around my feet.
In retrospect, it seems I've not been anywhere at all,
Though I see worlds away and fly away, fleeting in the heat,
I neglect that I've been laying dead for all the journey tall.

Joy, now, cerebrum fed; a dream at end.
I've fused into my bones again.
I rise from bed and, breathing in.
I go to face the world again.