Dream Song

My throes begins the with
opened doors
as memory mingles with a
pure desire.

A fiery light,
submerging me in floods of orange,
red, blue, and ultimately, white,
a warmth of being without blood,
sensations strange, finite seeing
infinitely, I grasp galaxies and weep.

Fair, yet to ask why in me these tears still seep
would profane this joy, coldly burn the message-feet
that run and speak my fears and deeper loves,
that see and paint my sorrows, illuminate my caves
of thought, gently reap the seeds my psyche sows,
adorn my mind with darkly feathered clothes,
place mists of false reality in forests of my mind,
that I may lose and gain myself, in worlds apart
from this, in realms of untruth redefined.