Falling Asleep To the Sound of Rain

Falling Asleep To the Sound of Rain

The Unconscious lies
In a bed of feathers…
There is no ink,
No blood that can trace back
A stamp of a feeling, just a whim that finally comes
Or just passes.
There is no fear, when this occurs,
Fear is a human’s curse,
Though, an instinctual tool to its survival.

The bed of feathers simply s.t..r…e….t….c…h..e.s
Into a tossing sea,
Where varied shades of yellow
Beaks coast along like shark fins,
Waiting for the glint of
Emerald dragonflies hovering
Just within reach.
The Unconscious floats on.

There is no hope, or woe,
Only close or apart.
A warm, blinking, orange glow,
Like a fly during caution on the glass
Of a traffic light.
There is a rhythm.
A pattern understood,
But to the unconscious,
It’s hypnotic, however, it’s…
At a level just beyond reach.

…………Clouds of ink On the left                                                                            …………………On the right, clouds of blood
……..Glide from the horizon and………
(((((((((((((((((Combine)))))))))))))))))))))
Above The Unconscious.
The sea of feathers buckles under
The stamp of a feeling
The red mixed rain brings,
And the dreamer regains conscious
To the sound of thunder.

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