Lost in Dream
Life is but a dream,
a never-ending stream,
of consciousness supreme,
creating who we are.
A stream of sight, scent and sound,
that surrounds us all day round,
until we think we've found,
who we've become so far.
But life forever turns,
it inflames and it burns,
never quite reaching yearns,
like a far-off distant star.
So some of us are depressed,
gone too far out, and then, regressed,
others think they're blessed,
perspective of who we are.
In sleep there's no sight nor sound,
our consciousness comes 'round,
dreams seem so profound,
often raising the mental bar.
Gradually sliding into that big sleep,
memories begin to return and creep,
dreams often then repeat,
calling us from afar.
Eventually, the only dream,
returns to endless moonbeam,
and sensory solitude supreme,
as life ends in par.
Copyright 2017 © Ronald W. Hull
6/13/17
You can read this poem at my website here.
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Always,
Deborah
Love ya!
Jane
Keep them coming Ron!
Jon