The Essence of a Dream (entry#2 of dream series)

Floating on a cloud, surpassing reality…

my dream is to be as my mind imagines free.

Actually, nothing’s actually happening, speak…

And don’t be heard, but the words so sleek…

or so bleak, fall on deaf ears but reach…

every synapse’s slumber at their peak.

Seek and you will find whatever you must.

Trust green dust, or purple moon’s thrust…

through the stratus-fear not the status or blush…

not at the radical images and fanatical plush…

scenes…crushed dreams exist not in just dreams.

Done things unimaginable through cut scenes…

lusting over some thing I had once seen…

busting…in through a place I had once been…

only to find déjà vu a familiar wanting…

to experience over as I had before or had I?

Peered through the looking glass with trapped eyes…

and been a guest but only signed my name in graphite.

Really here or perhaps I hang in the balance as a stalactite?

It’s primo immature how my signature’s deleted premature…

and brushed away with eraser crumbs and overture…

is the method by which my madness reaches such grandeur.

Grandiose floats so much better than hope, yet insecure…

no more…is my need for insecurities…only invest in secure…

Securities come as what may…finger tip access for sure…

Keeps my coaster coasting to a place my hest ventures.

Pump pomp and glitter through veins and brain waves.

Slaves escaped through the same way I change lanes…

in luxury. Lecheries for some become treasury’s name…

and maintain shameless aims to take aim at the same.

When the slumber ceases…taking on a cumbersome thesis…

statements are made in the same vein as living in pain…

but sleeping in bliss, so don’t miss mind’s train.

All aboard for the fantastical…trip and sustain…sum…

up the regularities of what dreams may come.

© 2008-2009 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.