in flux,
midway between asleep and awake.
the terrible absence of feeling,
a numb reward for...
nothing achieved.
flights of figments
infiltrating peripherals with insubordinate ease,
waiting, longing, striking.
reality merges with imaginary,
creates a new phantasm.
what is real and what is not...
indistinguishable, imperceptible.
it's all the same, meticulous botanicals,
a bit of remorse for a life less extraordinary.
fleeting, evading, submissive
freedom to create, victorious,
and finally, troubled sleep.
flurries of thought never diminish,
teasing, taunting,
coaxing to apex.
I use the title of your poem in my book...none of my friends seemed to believe it was a real word. I think you should visit my blog...the term "kindred spirit" is threatening my lips. Look for a post called "Abyss"... Authortanderson.blogspot
ReplyDeleteI use a lot of those words in my books. I have narcolepsy, and hypnogogic hallucinations are one of my symptoms. I gave my narcolepsy to one of my protagonists, and the narrator of "Mayfly Requiem" utilizes some archaic language, which made perfect sense for an ancient character who has lived through significant linguistic evolution. I'm checking out your blog now!
Delete