Contemplations Before Dawn
by Philip Haggard Berry
sign post up aheadis this "now"?
where am I? who am I?
do I now, or did I ever know, "how"?
or, am I dead
just the same old dreary same old. work, drink, sleep a drugged sleep, wake and work, then drink, then sleep a drugged sleep
it's never "tomorrow"
only ever forever "now"
The same shit creeps into my head, like slow shadows in twilight, edging on towards the dark night
lit only by the pinprick stars and the unholy moon
the same old shit
what ever became of my dreams?!
I've created. . .things. . .all of my own. . .
music and poetry
stories short and long
an almost endless sea of expressions
of my. . .my soul?
I don't know if that exists. . .
I have, ever so vague memories, to suggest I clawed my way up from a deep dark lost place
Into this existence
intimations that I stole this body, and am an alien in borrowed flesh
ever so vague memories of a place "before" all this
where there was no "form"
only idea, the shadow of a form,
a dream of the real
And yet, here I am, no excuses
others can see me, hear me, and interact
so I must be. . .at the very least "somewhat" real
exiled royalty of a darker class
cast out and out cast
Time, in this place of flesh and pain,
moves so fast
I've lost focus
I've lost the drive and the will
and the desire
to change and move on
I'd like to say I'm lost,
but here I am, I know where I am, so how can I be lost. . .
only my dreams are lost, and if that's where I came from, from a land of dreams,
then what am I doing here, in the real, in the stark light of a burning sun
I call to my god-totem, I pray to my dragon, dead but dreaming in the icy depths of the abyss
I beseech I pray
for a sliver of help
guidance
a little push forward
but nothing
nothing comes
And so I drift
just drifting
glancing down at the rift between the "real" and the "dream"
and wondering all the while
which to choose
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