It isn’t all one single phosphorescence
clinging to our exhaled breath for dear life
or a candelabra in the hand of a veiled mystic
dripping wax on the tunnel floor
or even a spark of flame refracted by glass
into rainbow hieroglyphs where our shadows walk
It isn’t that
or I wouldn’t be here on my knees
digging my hands through the debris of us
trying to find that single page where the ink ran dry
and words formed of a story we thought had no end
until we came to the light at the mouth of the tunnel
and saw what was always there
waiting for us
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Dreams have lessened in intensity for me over the years. They used to be vivid and strange. Now, they’re sort of muted.
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Photo by Evie S. on Unsplash
The Light is On 
7 responses to “Hieroglyphs”
Interesting.
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(:
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I read this aloud to a friend because I liked it so much. Powerful poem!
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Wow, thanks so much! That means a lot (: hope they liked it too!
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That’s the way my dreams are now. They’re not as crazy as they used to be.
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My dreams have taken on a strange form, including ghosts and people I have not seen in years
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Oh that’s interesting… so do you consider them nightmares? Or are they not scary?
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