Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jan 2015 Lorenzo Creaghe
Sjr1000
Came to me in a dream,
The internet of the unconscious
the place
where dreamers flee.

As I lay down,
Eyelids shutter's close
deep dark night falls,
Into the interweave
we are delivered,
Into the collective unconscious
we go
coast to coast,
In synchronicity's archtype's flow
where all the
heroic demons and fears
dwell and go.

Awake?  A dream?
A Balinese on LSD.
The boundaries fall
as the currents of the interweave
take us all.

When we hear a voice
we look around
to
see if anyone hears it too
otherwise how are we
to know
if it's a dream or if it's true.

The interweave a current,
We only enter unconscious
or
is it
when we are fully being?

We don't know.

We are swept along
on the night riding songs,
Our voices sing in
colors vivid, strong,
Sparkling in the black sky
lightning of consciousness crackling
the thunder of life
echoes in our ears
ripping us asunder,
To emerge
on another side
in another way,
Not too different,
Not too the same,
Irreversibly changed.

Our hands we hold
as we plunge, plummet
into the white current in
the dark sky
broadcasted to
the tumbling
rotating
universe
the interweave
a transit to
anywhere
you might imagine,
Don't fear,
Courage is here.

The imagination
runs so wild
call it what we will,
When we make our return
from the interweave's
milky way,
All we will
really know
is
that
for those
deep dark nights
when the eyelids shutters' close
after connecting
to the interweave
I
with each other was
free.
This idea of the "interweave" did come to me in a dream. The internet we enter when we are all dreaming.
As I understand it, the Balinese teach that the dream world is as real as the awake world in a nightmare you can ask your pursuers for a gift.
in the pleasure of discovering
words rhymes rhythms
i'm a gluttonous poet.

day and night
bite of my growing appetite
makes me sink low

i don't notice
broken pieces
shattered peaces
around me

i breathe in writing
eat and drink
poetry

crazed obsessed stressed
my poetry
like any other debauchery
is an escape ride
someplace to hide

i'm a poet
subservient
to the pleasures of words rhymes rhythms.
 Jan 2015 Lorenzo Creaghe
Ally
I tried to write you a letter but the words I was writing could never properly explain how in love I am with the idea of us, but so utterly confused with the reality of me and you. I'm so tired, tired of me and tired of you and tired of us, but even in the complete exhaustion of you and I, I yearn for your arms.
You said you were tired but I don't think sleep can solve our problems
 Jan 2015 Lorenzo Creaghe
Ally
You destroy me every ******* time
As soon as I think I've finally found a way to be happy, truly happy,
you find a way to bring me back down.
it's as if you don't even realize you're doing it, but I do.
and I still let you, every ******* time.
 Dec 2014 Lorenzo Creaghe
A
31 october 2014*

There will come a day
education, career, kids, love
after,
when all the feelings in the world have
allready been felt.

On that day
there will be so much, still
but all is old, recycled, outworn
Like that old sweater you used to love,
only wistfulness keeping it mourning in its drawer.
One day you will find it
recognise it, smile
only to put it back,
never wear it again.

There will come a day
laughter, tears, irresponsability,
later,
when we will live but not.
Routine kills the reckless,
only absurdity fills their lungs.

On that windy day
there will be so much, still
so please,
don't tell me about used up feelings.
Please, I beg.
Tell me I’m wrong.
Where does worth come from?

I've been told my aura is Lavender,
By a man trying to flee
light blue paper scrubs

and milk dripping down them.

He says I'm not suicidal,
Lavender never is.
 Dec 2014 Lorenzo Creaghe
Ally
Monday 2:38 pm
I know you're sitting five feet away but I miss you so much.

Tuesday 4:56
At least pretend like you love me when my mom is here. You're breaking both of our hearts today.

Wednesday 9:03 am
I'm mad about what you said to me last night but for the sake of the holidays I'll pretend like I believe your broken apology.

Thursday 8:16 pm
Merry Christmas. This year my wish was for us to remember what the point of all of this was. Maybe next year.

Friday 12:39 am
You're laying right next to me and I can hear you breathing but I don't think either of us are really alive.

— The End —