Lucid Dream

 “often when one is asleep, there is something in consciousness which declares that what then presents itself is but a dream”. Aristotle.


Still, I lay still, while a spectre, like smoke, mysteriously vanishes to reveal – a face?

My avatar manifests, assembles through the half light, grainy.

My throat, dry, what do I say?

All I can do is stare, a strange mortification looms and grips.

 Time lasts forever, not long enough.  Agony, eternal…

Birds begin to sing and tweet.  Softly, then rising in volume as my ears auto-adjust, accommodating sound.

Diffused, but brilliant light.  Air, clear, crisp, cold and a sharp intake of breath.  Am I awake?

Still, I lay still.  I sigh, deeply.  My hands, woven, cradle my head.  Eyes on repeat blink search the space above my head…

Am I awake?


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