I love my dreams ,that edge of reality
Where you and I touch and meet
Our pathway is not straight it's a spiral
You continually come back to things

You see deeper truths in untold stories
Fragmented energy from the same source
Because what we put out returns back
We live a little differently than before

We look at eyes and see inside hearts
We taste minds and recognise hunger
Ribs become cages for wild animals
And love shines again in molten gold

I call it the Changeover;
like an analogue radio searching for a signal
sometimes it's clear
sometimes it's static
sometimes it's in between
somewhere between far away and near
somewhere lost in the middle
between Signal and Static.

Clear Day the signal reaches out its arms as far as the eye can see
and the ears can hear
and the senses can feel
and taste buds pop and linger
and revel in new experience
and comfort in knowing
and wrapped in wonderment.

Changeover Day is somewhere between Clear Day and Nowhere
struggling to tune in
backwards or forwards
or sideways or upwards
to something
to anything that resembles a signal
like hearing voices in another room
an argument through a wall
the indecipherable murmur of music
the clamber of ushered noise
the mishmash and cacophony
like a symphony of Morse code.

Static Day is dark day
there is no signal
no senses
no sound
only indeterminate fuzz
and the crackle of broken glass
and the foghorn
and the white noise
the confusion and delusion
the paranoia of shifting jigsaws
changing pieces that never fit together
can almost make out a face through the frosted glass
the smear like bird **** on a window
halfheartedly wiped with lackadaisical whimsy
and greasy chip shop newspaper.

In the Static there is no wind
no heart to beat
no empathy or sympathy
just
cold
hard
steel
out of place in a room of feathers and feeling.

You just have to ride out the storm
tell yourself:
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon

The Changeover
from Static to Signal
and the welcome return of voices
and breathing
and beating
and feeling.

Much like a small pearl
Refined by the ocean's waves,
Her flaws were heaven.

Those that love,
Get their hearts broken.

Those that trust,
Get hurt.

Those that have faith,
Get disappointment.

But,
Those that don't get heartbroken,
Those that don't get hurt,
Those that don't get disappointed,
Don't know what is feels like to be truly alive.

a fear that
lives in the
mirror of
tomorrow;
that shatters
when I live
at the present
with you.

*-qyf