In the quiet moments of a rainy, windy night,
While most in bed wove cobwebbed dreams,
Awakened by a past flash of needed insight,
Left me in a type of phased fog, it seems.
No tears, for my eyes were too heavy with sleep,
But wracked by guilt for something not done,
Killed many times by a phantom buried deep,
And caught performing deeds deemed ‘sick’ by some.
There is no escape from the web of the past,
Except by burning the filaments to ash,
Strands on my hands, it cocoons my mind fast,
Twisted and tangled in skeins of a crash.
I crashed and burned in my own mistrust,
Knowing I was wrong but ignoring that voice,
Only trust those trust-worthy, if you must,
Though it’s only in hindsight that we have that choice.
The heart can fog the best of perceptions,
And lead one to do some neurotic things,
Following wild, ill-conceived misconceptions,
And jumping to conclusions that insanity brings.
It was just a dream, after all…just a remembered dream.
~ C.L.R. ~ © 2009