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Literature Text
I dream that I am wading through a field of violent colors and I could continue on forever, walking, trailing my fingers through the grasses, drinking in the coolness of the earth.
I am chasing a whistling tree that weeps on the horizon-line, lonely, ephemeral and, in some ways, recurrent as a dream in which I am body-bound - caked in the colors of skins and leaves and scars.
Waking.
Only to relapse, once more, into cascades -cool, morning-finger drizzles- of soloria.
In the bruising-blue sky, three moons simultaneously rise to glimpse the planet, whirling,
and the air is just calm enough to be called a breeze.
I am chasing a whistling tree that weeps on the horizon-line, lonely, ephemeral and, in some ways, recurrent as a dream in which I am body-bound - caked in the colors of skins and leaves and scars.
Waking.
Only to relapse, once more, into cascades -cool, morning-finger drizzles- of soloria.
In the bruising-blue sky, three moons simultaneously rise to glimpse the planet, whirling,
and the air is just calm enough to be called a breeze.
A dream I had, before, when I was drugged beyond consciousness and they were contemplating my organs.
Elaboration, perhaps, later.
Elaboration, perhaps, later.
© 2012 - 2024 sense-and-stupidity
Comments3
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Dreams are so abstract and wonderful, I think you captured that really well.
This is just beautiful. The imagery you've created and the mood you've set are lovely, it makes wish I remembered more of my dreams. <3
This is just beautiful. The imagery you've created and the mood you've set are lovely, it makes wish I remembered more of my dreams. <3