Ignis Fatuus surmounts it’s fume over me. A fickle, childlike illusion that appears without warning or invitation culminates inside my waking being. Mangled by my rational mind. It which is treasured is also lost and inapprehensible. Yet, how can this be a trick? If only I could confine this ruse that vacates my consciousness with the same dexterity from which it does appear. A captor of dreams.
I’d like to think that while I am in the act of truly dreaming, my restless mind is traveling through passageways of time that are not purely my own. That many others have traveled these neurogenic lands. This unknown cavity that manifests it’s nature in me from time to time is but a pattern of ancient illusion.
I rest my crown all but a foot away from the lucid waters that congregate outside. Each night I am lured like a foal into these depths. At times I struggle to free myself from the grip of a misanthrope, hoping to negotiate a less frightening fate.
