“Drawing Dreams” poem

Drawing Dreams

What if sleep is death?
And death can be conquered
by a lucid mind
painting its own heaven
(a mysterious door
that opens to bright deep parts
flowing currents of sharp,
soft pillows,
blue meadows of laser lilies)
If sleep is exit
from shining life,
dreams paint a path—
staring down eternity
in mansions made of puzzles
that one has to believe—all the time—
waking with meaning,
flying on the wings of

by E Bacon
June 4, 2005

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