Dream Raking

What has become of those words?
Those thoughts swimming in my drowsy head,
With their petty sympathies drowning in chained emotions.
Growing tired of that chilled place in my heart,
Where questions flow between incomplete answers.
A matted reflection of shadowy presence,
Deviantly prancing from reality to intransitive bliss.
My eyes...Not eyes anymore,
Blind to the sounds of the outside world,
The crushing din of a vanishing existence.
Sleep tear-soaked heart!
...Its time to go Dream Raking.
To seperate the fear from the nightmares of truth,
Amongst the weeds of this savage garden,
Deep in the corners of these fiendish images,
Holding on to the ropes of disbelief,
Webbed across a sky closer than the heavens...
...Closer than Faith.
Ever combing through the drawers of knives,
Excited by the cold, sharp steel,
Caressing these rusted fingers,
That have raped fleshy fantasies of my Sickness.
The raw moans of a world of my own,
Too weak to push against the wounds of consciousness.

10 Nov 2004  (RSA)