Lost
dreams, forgotten substance
Just
a ripple reaching out behind the eyes,
(almost)
undetected.
The
subconscious and conscious
alarm
bells go unanswered
(reach around and hit the snooze button
one more time)
And
we wonder why we bother?
If
butterfly wings can do it
Surely
hope is just imagination,
Wishful
thinking—
Sleep,
philosopher!
(five more minutes)
This
must be a match made in heaven,
We
are antithesis—
No,
yes—
To
what? We dare not speculate
the
cause, the answers,
maybe
not the question.
Is
it time to sleep forever?
Not
today, not today.
If I remember correctly last year when you read Plath your poetry sifted through her style as well, and now that you're reading critical theories of a dismal civilisation, and ideas of a society in which no underdog could win, I think that such words as "antithesis," and "conscious" are no-brainers in occurance.
ReplyDeleteI really like it, I think that the brackets are interesting. To me it seems like a dream sequence, into the mind of a philosopher while he dreams, what would Freud say about the unconscious revelations? Maybe it says something about you too.
Also, it will never be time to sleep forever while I'm here, you're stuck with me now