Aloft a bay and swift to wonder,
With thoughts to swirl a mind in which refute its sunder;
As sentiments of contemplation adjoin their trail,
Sanctions of mind with no clear avail -
In which taunt a certain truth,
Ample with results ensured by fail;
For truth-value was not of concern,
As living these dreams were impossible to discern -
With a relative validity they sat behind,
Distorted of image and left undefined.

Truth is, one might ever know,
Perhaps it is attachment or a wilting care;
Perhaps it is an unrequited or envisioned affair;
Perhaps the past person in which offer solace;
Or perhaps a valueless teem of needless embolus -
To convey to mind that it is but nothing,
Nothing alas, no more than something.

And yet i sit, dreaming dreams of the past.
Dreaming of you, standing here steadfast.
These thoughts to ponder as they float along,
Conjure themselves together and play an endless song;
Which teethe and breathe with heartfelt rhythm.
It gripes at my mind, and yet i still go with 'em.
In eerie desire of a defined remedy;
That goes without saying an undefined extremity.

So last I speak,
From thought to thought,
As this sheltered mind is to leak.
Hereby night's gleaning ember -
Heart beating with thoughts as far as I remember,
Our peak in history at status of friend,
Mutuality clear, no ties to amend.


Nothing more and nothing less.

So why is it I dream of you?
I must profess.
Yes it is true, yes indeed I do.
Explicit visions of something more -
Something that we've never even considered to open a door.
And here at it I confess,
That of attraction in an altered fictitious state of mind;
Yet here I am,
Continuing to look behind,
Here in this reality, with my eyes distinctly open,
Reliving these dreams dreamt in the past,
With deeper connections -
Connections that realistically never sought chance to last.

They never even existed with such say,
So why in my sleep
I
See
You
This
Way?