Is it magical
my obsession
of imagination?

I dream of dark stones
engraved with green glowing
long lines flowing
showing the ancient texts
of druid spells.

I imagine soft puddles
infused with
more magic
then most could handle
as white fire
flows fiercely
from thin lines
that connect
beneath the wet surface
looking almost like
the neural pathways
of my overactive brain.

Sleeping I dream of
orgiastic fires
that consume
everything in my room
with a lustful passion
whilst passing
my serene sleeping form.

It is preposterous
there is no point to this
trifecta of
waking and sleeping dreams
other than their functioning
of distracting or enlightening me,
bating my better nature
to expand itself
inspiring me to elevate my consciousness
through the explorations
of whatever wonderful what ifs
and never was realities cont.
that come to me.