Poetry
Dreamscapes of an Unmoored Mind
Lost in the ebb and flow of nameless tides
In the hollow echoes of a silver dawn,
where shadows stretch like whispers —
stretched fingers of forgotten gods,
I wander through the labyrinthine fog,
where time drips from the eaves
like honeyed rain, viscous and unseen.
The streets undulate beneath my feet,
each step a ripple in the canvas
of a world half-dreamt, half-remembered.
I catch the scent of lavender and loss,
twined like lovers in the twilight air,
where the moon’s pale face dissolves
into a cascade of shimmering mirages.
Phantoms dance in the periphery
of vision, their laughter a tinkling
chorus of broken glass, crystalline
and sharp against the dulcet hum
of my own heartbeat, relentless
in its pursuit of meaning amidst
the chaos of synaptic fires.
A city of whispers, a cathedral
of echoes, where the holy and the profane
merge in the silent hymn of stars
that bleed their light into the veins
of night, a pulsating river of celestial
ephemera, where my thoughts drift
like flotsam on an ink-black sea.
Faces blur and blend, masks upon masks,
each gaze a window to another
universe, untethered from the anchor
of identity, lost in the ebb and flow
of nameless tides. I am adrift,
a mariner in the ocean of my mind,
seeking the shore of certainty, a lighthouse
in the storm of half-formed dreams.
The air hums with the murmur
of forgotten songs, melodies
that coil around the marrow
of my bones, resonant and deep,
like the tolling of a distant bell,
each note a wave of memory,
undulating through the corridors
of my sleep, where I am both
architect and wanderer,
lost and found in the maze
of my own creation.
In this liminal space, this twilight
realm where reality frays at the edges,
I am a poet of the surreal, crafting
verses from the sinew of dreams,
weaving tapestries of thought and echo,
a song to the unseen, the unspoken,
the ephemeral beauty of the in-between.
And as the dawn breaks, shattering
the illusion of night, I find myself
once more in the realm of the waking,
but the dream lingers, a shadow
cast upon my soul, a reminder
that in the labyrinth of the mind,
the surreal is but a step away
from the tangible, the known.
Ani Eldritch 2024
