Dreams are strange bedfellows

Dreams are strange bedfellows

For the lonely of heart

Disguised to enquiry

Withholding

Reliable solution

For needless interpretation.

Waiting for understanding

In expectation

Like Pip and Mister Magwitch

Or Anna in tears

At the station

Is a long game

Without a literary device

To redeem the story

From the waste bin

There is no recovery

Without remorse

Or recourse

To an alternate narrative

Deconstruction

Can still be subjective

Artifice

With nothing to prove

Correlation

Is anymore than

A tenuous link

From one conscious moment

To another

Whatever that entails

When consciousness

Can be understood

As a bi-product

Of communication

There are no answers

To be found

In trigonometry

Not in a scan using telemetry

We are still

Keeping secrets

From ourselves

Whether sleeping

Or thinking

We are all prisoners

Lying in a darkened room

Weeping silently into pillows

Waiting to find

A way out

Of the shadows

Into the light