Hypnopompic
.
Between
Between the dreams and the waking,
As dawn comes up in the land,
There comes a moment of clarity,
That I feel I could touch with my hand.
I can know that I’m no longer dreaming,
But my mind doesn’t say that it’s wrong,
That the dream-stuff still may linger,
The way music trails off in a song.
So at that moment’s perception,
As I rise quite refreshed from my rest,
I form up a flower of loveliness,
To remind me of how I’ve been blessed.
Then as the long day develops,
While dealing with folks and their schemes,
I lower my head for a moment,
To breathe from the flower I dreamed.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . August 8, 2008
Hmmmmn.
Obama’s hypnopompous self-congratulatory me-myself-and-myoptic media seem to have gotten their marching orders: Every news radio show this yesterday and this morning are full of how many Arab allies are coming to the rescue (er, co-little-listen) for his failed not-anti-Muslim-anti-not-terror program of not-quite-warfare.....