The Mansion of Dead Dreams

A single window held

in the center peak

-

the barn owl strays in

perched on the twisted tree,

from the crooked field

-

the branches wrench in

with no leaves, cast over

cast iron gates.

_

Corroded limestone

bricks in beautiful degrees

built the eroded gothic stone.

_

Heavy rust and flagstone daunt them away:

the hellfire blaze of wild perennials

setting silent flames to wild vinewoods and fog.

the colour of fog living with red varieties

leather flowers, muted

crimson and green.

Daylight - —

— Where am I?

-

Sepia vapours,

all the vinewood bleeds

through this ivory breeze:

_

Ferns of hemlock groves.

Crimson grows in clovers

dry as dust. The fields now fold.

_

The air from the dust:

The dust from the sands,

These lands are a crimson's dream.

_

Fragmented stone flows over,

these lands are a dream’s memory.

| a dream?-

-

Rich, fertile earth, marsh thrones

Sum aesthetic of words put together:

Ivory breeze.

Music played from the sky

In the autumn light

glazing the thickets

thorns and the trees.

-

In the midnight, atoms light

All vapours to the air we breathe,

-

Atum's light

resonate the night sky so that I can see.

I am the dream.

_

In this dream, the wild orchards

soaked in sight of moonlit melody.

--Daylight

Magenta, blue, and violet hues dance

in the night sky like soft lightning seeds.

-- I want to wake up

Remember words said in solace

everything out there grows,

from the sweetest buttercup and carnation

to poison Hemlock groves.

_

Is it just a dream

... Don't worry, nothing will change.

Is it speaking to me?

He sits there perched. The crooked branch.

Silently, he sits there perched.

_

What he does before I can see—

Shifts his gaze to the window’s peak.

-

The moonlight swelled the arid night

Now... I can see it clear as day

-

My eyes, god take this sight away from me.

They glaze in anointed sorrow

-

eyes sink

with gravity

to the talons

of the beast

I can see caked in soot

I can not leave

I can see, yet light is sealing outside of me

— Where am I again?

Why am I in the dark room?

Held in the center peak.

-

Perched beside me

And above me on the–

Why does it feel like i am sinking

He perched beside me on the -

Darkness, I am sinking in the dark.

_

This is fate to the childhood mansion.

That crown room held no light to speak.

-

On the windowsill, talons painted with coal clawed at the old English brick

_

———Dust filled daylight————————

-

the old dust fills the air

the windowsill

_

The morning beams of light born

Nostalgia from childhood.

-

Semi-relaxed, sinking into the sheets–

perched outside, up on the branch

sat an owl.

Why does it feel wrong,

as if something hangs looming above me.

Perched there, it is staring right at me.

_

Held still the stare of the owls eyes.

Why am I so peculiarly delighted

-

yet, through that cubic space

-

The beast gazed deep through my eyes.

the talons grip crushes through grain,

as gravity heaves through my head.

My sight sinks inside my skull.

Light glazes the dark chasms inside.

They glaze in anointed sorrow.

_

———Dust stilled in the daylight—————

The raptured dream ruptures while my head clears.

_

My eyes adjusted to the daylight,

No.. again dreams leave like the moonlight

The moonlight that swells the air vibrantly

-

Soft light bleeds through window panes

-- I can see—

-

It sits there perched. The spinning branch

Silent warmth hazes the air

_

The little red canary

dependable, red feathers will greet me.

_

Perched above the rose garden.

It sings the sweetest tones,

making the comfort of mornings grow,

perched offering solace to lost dreams.

_

Seeds scattered grow in plastic cups

Dancing under water jug showers

Violets grow grazed with sunlit hues.

_

Soaking in the sight of the sun

Like a dream, I held the light.

-

Reading the clouds in the sky,

The sun lights

-

the morning mist that I breathe.

Standing, washing off the midnight

-

grasping a rose by vinewood on the tree

glazed in dew of mist remnants

of the autumn night,

-

as music from the sun sang in the sky.

A petal breeze:

-

An aesthetic I would say this gives me,

Rich reds, red feathers and red blooms.

- -

Dreaming wisps of clouded memories,

as fragmented skies flow overby.

_

pull from the window

creak the crimson rosewood floors.

the dust builds under my feet;

same as to the dust in the air I breathe.

_

dry and muted, The halls fold.

Muted colours grow, the hall holds

three framed flattened ferns from hemlock

-

Hanging from ivory coloured walls,

letting the look of the vinewoods bleed

that dark sepia sense out of me,

the tiredness from being asleep.

--

Heavy rust and flagstone

daunt them away:

-- this isn't today?

The wild perennials, and silent hellfire blaze

the wild vinewoods and fog

red varieties

leather flowers, muted

crimson and green.

-- Is that a memory?

-

The house speckled with crimson and green

Leather flowers, mute

Giving variety to–

There’s some painful brain fog

Vision is lost in a silent haze:

Sight rusts, this body is growing heavy, the door-

-

Strength erodes, like being covered in stone

falling like bricks, steps grow endless

Movements corrode, the door pulls away.

_

vision bleeds out like rust covering cast iron,

with no strength, casted over the ground,

gut wrenches like tree trunks twisting apart.

_

My senses swing sensually crooked

As vision bleeds in by baroque darkness

I remember the beast

Festering in the black of memory

-

Hidden, perched inside the tree

Now, The barn owl strays inside, free

-

You prayed to me, as I were your highest peak

From the agony I felt pain, but now

ecstasy

Not mine, it’s a sensually delightful sight to feel your reality

I feel trapped, but lovely;

-

That room,

a single window held

in the center peak

_

the beast strayed in, that cubic space

It possessing the material dream-

the window that I see reality.

_

Forever I feel trapped in its black soot____

memories, held in the center peak_______

I had all that I wish to read,___________

It finds humour, when I think_________

my reality is anything but the Owls dream._

Meditate in the black cube, it’s infinite room,

I miss the scent of the wild roses________

But, at least my mind still blooms _______

Reminiscent to the last innocent sight,____

The sight held before the red canary______

with spindling branches bleeding with life__

Now, living as an atom in a hermetic sight__

the owl, the one with light, my guide eternal.