a dream
fleeting
illogical
cacophony of those things that dwell
in
between
the world of fact and fantasy
the monsters
it seems
prefer
to
hide there
in the dark of our minds
where the vanquishing sun
cannot reach
that edge of all sanity
that cannot be understood
or reasoned with
where it’s all dark
and I feel dark
and everyone else is dark
another door opens
to fields of
lavender
when we used to
pick wild
strawberries
and we would
make honeysuckle
crowns
til’ dusk
that
lovey-dovey summer
I had hoped would never
end
but then I woke up
to find it had never
even
began