Night Mare Over Dream Begun

 by  shaun  lawton 

   At last the travel we no longer need to another star system begins to bleed into our consciousness one idea at a time filling up our fountain just to keep us in a line so we can build our own mountains one neighbor at a time here in my dark garden in the middle of the night I can be granted a pardon for refraining from the fight so long as I go about my business giving it no mind and while my dreaming deepens and I begin to find a shadow of my reflection in the turbulence undermined I will follow the direction that pulls against my mind I can let a forest of purple flowers grow around me only to drown me in my own garden where you can find me so beg my pardon I'm all about my meditation sitting free in liberation. Seated in my garden in silent contemplation I begin to laugh thinking of the search for extraterrestrials when all along we're living here together on this singular planet spinning in suspension in elaborate equilibrium with a balancing process that accounts for our existence and acts as the ballast of our lives. It's enough to cause me to want to awaken and open up my weary eyes so tired from dreaming that hard for so long that the decades began dulling the prize until I stopped to remember that long lost September that had fallen behind the event horizon far enough ago to have been quite forgotten until we had gotten reminded the day that you died and all the other days our other friends followed after until the few who remain will not dare complain about the bright lives we have left in our eyes as the Sun keeps shining reflected in the pining for all the adventures of yore but the truth remains sharpened upon the stone of our senses and cooled by the rushing laughter of a brook coursing over boulders and pebbles and rocks that do whisper and chuckle come on in the water's fine, come on in the water's fine for this is the trick that brought about language when the first people tried to mimic the course of their rivers passing down mountainsides with runneling tongues pushing the narrative of their ongoing stories sliding by and reflected on the articulate wind howling in the nighttime making it difficult to fall asleep while we toss and mumble at a loss as we stumble forward through our neverending dream.