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taliendo · 11-13-2003, 11:09 PM

Night’s Dream

Once, I came upon a man sleeping, and he dreamt; he dreamt a dream of far off places, of things unimaginable to the human heart. He dreamt of a love of perfection and he knew that this love was true and good and that all the world rested upon its presence. He dreamt of a woman so beautiful that she could not envision her own visage. He dreamt of a life so complete that his heart knew not when to sing and when to ache. The thoroughness was too much and the man felt a great loss at this gift – this vision – that he had been granted. He slept on. The dream did not corrupt and it did not alter but flourished in the eyes of the man and he wept at the pulchritude. He asked no more of the what or the when but rested in unadulterated joy. And when the morning did come – the man slept on, afraid that in waking this perfect existence would be ended and his life forced on in human coercion. The day was made as night and the dream grew as the man continued on his journey of bliss and pain. For he now knew that this image was just that – and contained to his slumbersome state. Fear had consumed hope, as the man knew that at a point his wakefulness would come and swallow this vision, that life would eventually return – imperfect as it may be. Yet the dream continued on. The lady danced in a field of lilies and the ground compensated her such. The flowers rent under and gave off much perfume as the woman gave way to the night once again. The darkness consumes and gives freedom to the man; the dream rolls on – a river of happiness flows in heaven. His vision stills and the woman is stopped in her movements as they behold one another and weep once again that another day will reign on. A struggle has begun; a fight will commence – the battle is already won. Love has conquered again as the day breaks once more. Still the waking dream walks on. The day becomes furious and renders jealousy as its firstborn child. The woman hunkers in fear, staring ahead and waiting for the night to offer the cover of darkness as her salvation. The day turns to dusk and joy is delivered to the night a final time. The lady returns and fills the sky with the glory of song, singing and dancing as the angels dance; offering praise to the creator of the song and the world and the soul. Joy then becomes pale and the man stirs as the end of the night draws nigh. The dream has become old and one with the earth – maturing the man himself – a relic to men and a sage among his people. The man wakes and knows that his time has come too late. The realization is too much and his heart bursts with much sadness as the dream fades into restless nothing; the day consumes it utterly. In between his tears the man smiles as he knows that he is the endless night, and you, his dream, will come again.

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I would really enjoy feedback - negative, positive, whatever. lemme know.

11-13-2003, 11:09 PM	#1 (permalink)
taliendo Insane Location: an indelible crawl through the gutters	Night's Dream Night’s Dream Once, I came upon a man sleeping, and he dreamt; he dreamt a dream of far off places, of things unimaginable to the human heart. He dreamt of a love of perfection and he knew that this love was true and good and that all the world rested upon its presence. He dreamt of a woman so beautiful that she could not envision her own visage. He dreamt of a life so complete that his heart knew not when to sing and when to ache. The thoroughness was too much and the man felt a great loss at this gift – this vision – that he had been granted. He slept on. The dream did not corrupt and it did not alter but flourished in the eyes of the man and he wept at the pulchritude. He asked no more of the what or the when but rested in unadulterated joy. And when the morning did come – the man slept on, afraid that in waking this perfect existence would be ended and his life forced on in human coercion. The day was made as night and the dream grew as the man continued on his journey of bliss and pain. For he now knew that this image was just that – and contained to his slumbersome state. Fear had consumed hope, as the man knew that at a point his wakefulness would come and swallow this vision, that life would eventually return – imperfect as it may be. Yet the dream continued on. The lady danced in a field of lilies and the ground compensated her such. The flowers rent under and gave off much perfume as the woman gave way to the night once again. The darkness consumes and gives freedom to the man; the dream rolls on – a river of happiness flows in heaven. His vision stills and the woman is stopped in her movements as they behold one another and weep once again that another day will reign on. A struggle has begun; a fight will commence – the battle is already won. Love has conquered again as the day breaks once more. Still the waking dream walks on. The day becomes furious and renders jealousy as its firstborn child. The woman hunkers in fear, staring ahead and waiting for the night to offer the cover of darkness as her salvation. The day turns to dusk and joy is delivered to the night a final time. The lady returns and fills the sky with the glory of song, singing and dancing as the angels dance; offering praise to the creator of the song and the world and the soul. Joy then becomes pale and the man stirs as the end of the night draws nigh. The dream has become old and one with the earth – maturing the man himself – a relic to men and a sage among his people. The man wakes and knows that his time has come too late. The realization is too much and his heart bursts with much sadness as the dream fades into restless nothing; the day consumes it utterly. In between his tears the man smiles as he knows that he is the endless night, and you, his dream, will come again. -------- I would really enjoy feedback - negative, positive, whatever. lemme know. __________________ -LIFE IS ABSURD-