In Dreams there are no dreams

In dreams, there are no dreams
tumbling out of your mind –
crystalized to diamond hard planes,
or blurred and fuzzy about the edges,
elusive and faint
upon the gossamer wings of a moth.
No dream waking moments
when you have a step in one world
and one in another.
Not quite sure which is
most worthy of pursuit,
or which needs following
from one moment
to the next.
Dreams of great import.
In dreams life is stable
makes a weird kind of sense
that seems to matter greatly
in morning’s dawn
but fades as dusk grows nearer.
My dreams carry through my days
yet still I wonder why
in dreams there are no dreams

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