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The question regarding the question relies on what the question really is.

If the question implied is a question directed outwardly, then it may be misinterpreted as a question to oneself internally.

Otherwise, a question explicitly directed inwardly is critical to deciphering the question that one will address outwardly.  

If an indirect question is questioned through the user, then the question itself becomes a metaphysical question to choose from.

In the event a question is said through alternate means, consider the quantitative/qualitative state of the question at the time being; as it may be resolved by asking the question in a subconscious level indeed.  

Superficial means tends to seek fundamental questions to the reality of the state one naturally possesses.  

In the case where the unconscious decides the opportune event to question the conscious reality, one must interpret the means in examination of the intrapersonal mentality.  

If the question is imposed through correlative thought and subliminal expression, then the question itself is related to a parallel conscious state intertwined with the unconscious state of mind of progression.

If the question is relative in combination to the solutions mentioned above becoming apparent, then one has means to ask the question without questioning the question itself in disparate.

Otherwise, the question continues to perplex the question through the continuation of irrelevant questions that one will have thought; creating a treacherous belief so concurrent one could not have fought.

Therefore, is the reality of the question portrayed to the reality you live in or the reality of others? As this poem was conclusive to subtly evoke thought in the questions we construct.

By: Michael M. De La Fuente
The thought of the question was introduced to me whilst reading Carl Jung's book, Man and his Symbols.
rain falls like
streams of our
subconscious
in a dream.

she was no
small dream
but she has faded
like a song.

paint your
dream town
red.

everything is
just a dream.

fall inside your
rabbit hole and
dream of cabbages
and kings.

scream my name -
make love like it’s
your dream because
it’s my dream too.

sweat and breathe
emotions as our
dreams connect

we will connect
and move like tides
of some forgotten shore
where dreams exist
in layers like the sand
and we can live forever.

©Ben Ditmars 2014
For years I did not dream
it was not uncommon
for me to wake up
and know I dreamed
of nothing in the night

For years I dreamed of gloom
It was not uncommon
to wake up at midnight
and feel a shadow
hunting me

Your presence changed it
You were a light
against my shadows
I dreamed of you
and woke up happy

But, now you are gone
my dreams are back
and I can't sleep
without the fear
of dreaming of you
an edit of dreaming of you. More accurate to the present.
my eyes feel as though tiny characters are hanging from the top lid
working together chanting, "1, 2, 3,...PULL!"
My mind feels like it's on E but myself tells me,
"there's plenty left...you're fine...you'll make it."
to where?
no clue.
time ticks, the engine revs, my body begs
for a break and a gulp of z's.
sleep starts to resemble the woman you or i could only dream of
i pump the brakes, fill the tank, my lids meet yet again
for i have a date, and I've made her wait long enough.
now tell me
if it's
possible to
wake up
from a
nightmare
when
you
aren't even
asleep
in the
first place
(c) nate k. 2014
Eyes that gleam with sun rays
in the shadows of springtime
and warmth similar to that with which
shooting stars carry dreams beneath the sea

Echoes of loud laughter drip
from the delicate strokes of his lips
painting various colors of kindness
and smiles upon her canvas
It is no accident that we have palms
With fingers extending from them
For when we unite our two hands,
They become a blooming flower.
We can follow the veins with our eyes
From fingertips to hearts
Blushing red.

Pumping into us another day
Another hope
Another dream
To find within ourselves the petals
To water faithfully.

I have watered fatefully.
Yet my flower has grown too long
In chilly dark basements
With mold growing in the corners and
Cobwebs decorating cracking walls.

I’ve only the strength to crack a thin beam of light
To dance upon the corners of my flower.
When will the music invite more?
Thank you for your dreams,
For now there is hope,
to all dreamers
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