Tale #116: The Third Dream Of The Waiting Prince, In His Time Of Seclusion, In The High Palace Of Eternal Solitude, Above The Clouds Of The Empire’s Reality, Beneath The Moons Of The Empire’s Imagination

Now this morning my Lord spoke of his most recent dream, which was the third of his solitude, the second of his meditation, and the first since he had drunk of the milk of dreams, which flows so readily in the Gardens Of The Many Moons, for only there is it that the Flowers Of The Mind shall bloom. And he said to me, “My dear scribe, last night as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the bed of my Palace, and sleeping soundly. And as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the bed of my School House, and sleeping soundly. And as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the cot of my Nursery, and sleeping soundly. And as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the womb of my Mother, and sleeping soundly. And though I slept, I dreamt not at all. For I had then all I wanted, and no thought of anything more.”

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Notes:

1. Written in June, 2020

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i wrote a poem in my sleep

i wrote a poem in my sleep
it’s gone now

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Notes:

1. Written on May 14th, 2020

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Tale #96: On her shoulders, ravens (a dream of judgement)

Her hair as black as night, her clothes as white as the sun. On her shoulders, ravens that cried out to her in warning, called out to her in love. Friends that would never betray her, never forget her, never leave her alone.

Through the long meadow grass she walks, her hands brushing against the tips. Behind her the almost setting sun.

And me, always in her shadow, as I try to catch up, try to say I was sorry, try to convince her to turn, to stop, to take me back into her arms.

But only the ravens turn towards me. They cry out their judgement, and I am left, alone.

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Notes:

1. Written on September 27th, 2017

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my dreams are so small

my dreams
are so small
tiny withered pathetic things

yet still they remain
as unfulfilled and unattainable
as wishes

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Notes:

1. Written on 22nd November, 2019

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A Bad Dream

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Notes:

1. Made between the 3rd and the 6th of October, 2019
2. Although it’s based on a script for a short stop motion cartoon that I wrote in September 2018
3. But which never got made

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