The Dream Weaver

You may happily find me in the ephemeral realm of creative slumber, where imagination knows no bounds and logic takes a backseat. Tis the land of the dreamer’s mind within stars and celestial bodies. Ancient sages meet the dreamer in me gazing up at twinkling narratives....hopefully i fall asleep while waiting to decipher their luminous codes

Dream stories are so wildly messy...choosing times of bleary eyes, REM's of Rapid Eye Movements and NREM's of Non-rapid Eye Movements, lucid dreams and nightmare states to invade the mind and confuse the psyche.

i just need to sleep...leave me alone impish devils...i am speech slurred and jaded eyed...YET

The waking stories compete awfully with the sleeping tales...they are so very relentless chasing me through seconds minutes hours days and nights...there seems no escaping them...they just keep urging, prompting...egging me on---write me---no me---me, me-------move out the way!...one naughty eager to be written story shouted, elbowing everyone rudely (don't tell it, but it's my very favorite take no prisoner type that always jumps to the top of the list)-----------------i need to sleep, you pesky words i need my beauty rest------------

Ha!...your 'beauty' days are long gone...arrogantly grins a young and lovely little whippersnapper tossing blue-green short cropped hair. Make fun all you want...you little (redacted) freshly spun bundle of cotton candy...some day soon you too will be me...getting a tiny bit long in the tooth and gray on the head, then you will see through the lens of 'not a teenager anymore'...ha...see how that will make you feel....feisty little (redacted)... Anyway--------i find myself composing stories even when asleep...i dream them...unfortunately i tend to forget them when i awaken, sometimes i only remember tiny fragments...still...from fragments i can compose a poem or a song of lovely words to imbue life into a story.

Nightmare Flowers bloom...petals smile, leaves rustle and tales unfold in delicate cogs and winding paths.

Behind the dreamer’s closed eyelids lies a door...it opens to enigmas wrapped in mist. It leads to realms uncharted...trees hum, gravity bends to whims, and Poseidon trades secrets for seashells.

The dreamer writes letters to this door, hoping it will open, he composes a story and allows blessed sleep at last to transport mind and heart to gentle slumber

This is the last story...i admonish the stubborn voices, though my heart aches, heavy with tales unsaid.

The characters gather, spectral and kind...They nod, knowing this is their curtain call, thus leaving me to sleep into the night’s folds.

The hero, scarred...the villain, vanquished...once proud, now humbled by fate, The hero bows, as time itself unravels at the gate.

The writer’s breath mingles with the night, And he pens his journey’s end.

“Once upon a final time", he begins, his voice a sleep deprived but happy knell of familiar phrases.

The ink dries, sealing fate’s decree. The storyteller’s eyelids flutter, heavy as lead, He glimpses a door ajar, beckoning softly, to a place beyond stories...a dreamer’s bed.

The pen slips from his grasp, and he steps through that threshold, weightless, into slumber’s embrace, where tales dissolve, and the night cradles him, tender and ageless.

The last story dissolves into the writers cabinet, filed under...completed. For the writer has escaped the labyrinth of words, And in sleep’s tender arms, he finds his truth.

May dreams leave him be, to sleep and snore to his heart's content.

The awakening

As the delicate veil of sleep lifts, the dreamer awakens to a gentle glow filtering through the curtains---a world kissed anew by morning's tender light. The echoes of dreamt voices linger like soft whispers in the air, their laughter and wisdom weaving into the fabric of thought. They seem to nudge the dreamer forward, guiding him toward the day's unfolding story.

Stretching against the cool touch of the sheets, the dreamer feels a quiet resolve---an inspired connection to the fleeting beauty of dreams and the infinite possibilities of the waking world. Eyes sparkle with newfound purpose, carrying fragments of the night's musings into the daylight, like tiny treasures.

His heart hums with anticipation, for today is not merely another day. It is an unwritten page, a canvas waiting to be brushed with moments of curiosity, warmth, and wonder. And so, stepping into the embrace of morning, the dreamer begins a new journey, propelled by the magic of the dreams that shaped them, ready to create magic in return.

As the dreamer stretches, yawns, and like a cat, purrs softly in contentment, he draws back the curtain to let the morning world reveal itself. A blush of gold spreads across the horizon, where the first tender rays of the sun meets a sky still cradling tendrils of twilight. Wisps of lavender and pearl cloud linger like dreams refusing to fade.

Dew adorns the grass below, each droplet shimmering like tiny diamonds in the soft light. The trees stand tall and resolute, their branches reaching out as if to greet the sun. A gentle breeze stirs the leaves, they rustle like nature’s morning hymn. Somewhere, a bird calls---bright and clear---a melody carrying promises of the day ahead.

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Beyond, the world begins to stir. The faint hum of distant life emerges---a car rolling over the asphalt, a door closing softly, a dog barking in greeting to the new dawn. The air smells of earth refreshed, kissed by the coolness of night, now giving way to the warmth of the day.

In this tranquil moment, the dreamer feels a deep, quiet gratitude. The world is alive, awake, and beautiful, waiting to welcome the first step into the unfolding day.

A final dream waltz---A bow to life

Two dancers take the stage

NREM, the first...deliberate and spry

Muscles relax, heartbeat slows

REM, the second dancer, spins wildly

Her mind unfurls

Together they twirl...NREM’s steady waltz, REM’s frenzied trance

A duet of paradox...a subconscious dance.

Until

Dawn tiptoes across the horizon,

They retreat, curtain falling...leaving us with fragments of their magic

A sonnet, fading with the day.

Remember that both REM and NREM dreams hold their own mysteries, inviting us to explore, whether dreaming or awake.

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