the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

Monday morning dreaming

discomfort at a shy angel’s kiss while
rapidfire surrealist pastiche of blisses and
anxieties morphs and weaves, just atoms
beyond the grasp of conscious mind. Having
drunk of his true and naked self, the waker
stumbles reluctantly back into the fallen and
solid universe, into linear time, dread-ful

.

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2 thoughts on “Monday morning dreaming

  1. I have these angels tattooed on my leg.
    ” linear time, dread-ful”
    more thought-provoking words…

  2. I must say I don’t know how to comment on this poem, and that is a comment in itself. It affects me on a deep level and made me see new parts of my own experience that I had not noticed before. Thank you.

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