What is your soft little dream, nestled close?

Have you stepped out of the woods and begun to listen to the whisperings that have shaped you?

What would happen if you really listened?

What would happen if you opened to your dreams?



Waking dreams

That soft little dream,

That lays buried,

In those small forgotten corners,

Seldom seen or recognised.


Something stirring alone in the darkness,

Creating ripples through the veil,

As they waken to the sound,

Of your hearts drumming.


And once the slumber has been lost,

The hiding place recedes,

The rising moment of perception,

Disallowing rest.


And the metamorphosis in motion,

Whispers of possibilities that gently grow,

Beyond the edges of perception,

Yearning of worlds unexplored.

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