Sunday, 11 August 2013

my soul lives between dimensional trails

My thoughts glimmer out of my dreams
Almost akin to silver gossamer threads
Connecting me with stories of my past
Shaking me out of my train of refusals
And linking my soul with present desires
My subconscious arises like a shadow
It has its own breath and heart-beat
And a rhythm much like a living beast
Struggling to live in 3D while I exist in 2D

My thoughts where do they go in the dark
When I close my eyes to rest to sleep
My id and my ego have insomnia - they creep
They poke me with memory's small darts
A reminder of the many yesterdays we've been apart
I close my eyes bleary-eyed sink through the tide
And type out my soul hoping for gerberas
Then I despair at the lack of equi-rhyme
How far underwater does poetic licence go?

My thoughts cascade out of my consciousness
Almost like swollen waters overflowing a riverbank
I sleep a non-sleep as my memory and my dreams
Tussle and clash, making me wonder which is real
Which reality is merely a figment of my dreamscapes
I bellow as the thoughts flow_____
Stand back or we shall attack_____
And then I am stopped in my tracks ____
Who is we? Did my other selves show?

My thoughts pool in a dark lake of gravity
I can't see the bottom in my sleep - is this guilt
A column of flashes arise from the black
They seem angelic and mystical - even joyful
Shining glowing with moon-fire magical
As the darkness of the mind-waters coalesce
Bearing down on me I sink bottomlessly
Descending far beneath will there be a lake bed
Or is this it - am I going to fall through the earth?

My thoughts float 6 feet above my head
And all breathing stops it isn't necessary
A blackish greenish glow is this for real
I see huge tree-like forms growing miles beneath
My id and my ego have turned into little mermaids
And my mum dances with webbed cherubim
Surrounded by a choir of angels her dimples glow
She nods at me forgivingly for my decade of rage
I see glowing faces my head spins is heaven up or down?

My thoughts jolt me in the face a shot electric
Almost like an icy reality-slap upside the head
My mother's brown eyes stare into mine
Her dimples glow of love and peace
She retreats into green caves of mystical moon-fires
I look at her helplessly hopeful I can follow
But I start falling upwards through the lake
And wonder if gravity has been reversed
I fall up crash and land with a hard thud

My thoughts trickle out like tiny raindrops
The lake is miles away my mum's face hazy
The night dew has an icy coldness
Reality bites no more inner spaces
If my imagination could set sail
Crossing between a multi-dimensional trail
With my astral selves in control of the veil
We would dance merrily dreamily - live life bold
No conscience burning no guilty heaps of coal

-Anne V


Brian Miller said...

ha. really cool progression in this anne...i particularly like the stanza with the thoughts floating a few feet over and your mother with teh mermaids...ha...this was an intriguing and fanciful trip

Eileen T O'Neill ..... said...


Thank you for allowing the reader to relive this strange and mystical kind of journey. Caught between reality and some other experience. Very detailed and quite inviting.


Anne Viva (Anne The Obscure) said...

Dear Brian, thank you, I loved that stanza as it made me feel happier with this dreamscape/alternate reality. :)

Anne Viva (Anne The Obscure) said...

Dear Eileen, thank you also for visiting, my blog is mostly about my internal grief and need for catharsis, so yeah at times it can get surreal. :)


aspiritofsimplicity said...

I think poetry can be very therapeutic. You have captured a dream-like state very well here.

Sumana Roy said...

The night dew has an icy coldness......
i don't know why i felt so sad suddenly when i came upon this line...

Anne Viva (Anne The Obscure) said...

Thank you my dears for visiting me.

aspiritofsimplicity- you are on point indeed as I wanted to have an otherworldly dream-like sequence to this piece. Writing is awesome therapy. :)

Sumana- yes I did feel a pang of grief when writing that stanza. It made me miss my mum all over again, and yet this poem was meant to be more fanciful than melancholic. Oh well...

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