Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Slipping under a synonymous veil

Poetry By: air

This memory became very alive in me after reading Peaches new chapter. It brought to mind a very special time.
I know the poem won't make alot of sense unless you know a little more...in 2003 I was in love and just as the relationship was going to into its peek as every new relationship does within the first few months, he died, and after that we met in the dream. Some of the dreams were more like visoins. Anyway the longings for what we had continued, it is as if the relationship still went on because it was at its peek and wasn't 'done' yet. My mind through meditation and some sort of awakening began seeing into the air, and I tried to make sense of. The Blue Danube is a song I use to listen to as I imagined us dancing in the corn feild :) The thoughts of him finally spin out further away after a few years but the fantasy still ligers only into reality.

The mind I had recognised as something that could do anything only I had to eventually groung to earth.
And so I hope this helps a little....I made an audio but haven't been able to download it yet. don't know why

Submitted:Dec 20, 2008    Reads: 206    Comments: 19    Likes: 17   

Slipping under the synonymous veil

in the early ambrosial hours of twilight.

How we played as if it had never happened.

And if I had not woke inside the dream

we would have succumbed to erotic longings.

They had not had their chance to fully rise.

They go on as if expected to happen again


the way

it had...


Full spead ahead as the

Blue Danube plays across the skies

in the deep corn feilds of a small town.


As the hazy night drives me into its sea

I dream the possibilities

of mind

Never reaching an end..


I can relax....no

I have to figure out the way to bring the mind

into reality.

I have to see the combination

I have to see

'the pattern'



and meditate some more


Thoughts fly their tenure and spin out


The nature of fantasy draws me to reality

and I idly grasp at what is in reach.


though the seasons haven't encountered their

last drop of wine;

it is mine to find;

the texture of reality;

finely keyed rhythms of foreclosure..

How timely has it all been?


| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.