I Hope You Dream

My fingers ache—an ache of repeated penmanship.
A rhythmic dance across this canvas and pages,
Pages hidden only to me and those who see
the worlds that lie rested between my eyes.

I will probably never stop either.
My aching fingers pick another medium,
and write again—the explanation, the buildings, the familiarity.
This is my hearth. It’s all chaos and indiscernible chaos on the outside.

I oscillate my involvement and my disapproval.
I write lest I betray myself again and again.
I write lest I betray my prompting.
I write because the ache in me exceeds the ache in my fingers.

An ache I know you feel as well,
an ache we feel so familiar with and know
as if it were our mothers—the progenitor of our transgressions.

My sin and my apathy.
My bane, my ignorance. The worlds that sit
atop the bridge of my nose.
The gnawing feeling in my heart, the persistent ache propelling me to dream and mask the world with mine,
yet I feel no reprieve. It is not mixed with the profane,
and I am sentenced to deal with the manifest—my matter.

From this viewpoint, I am matter, and that deeply troubles me.
I wish to plant my sanctum on that hill—an oasis that supersedes reality, forcing it into a distant echo.
I whisper to myself, “I am the heavenly touching the profane”,  my quests for immortality and omnipotence intertwined with this disdain and my dissent towards the profane.

Beating my chest and wearing an emblem to tell you:
I am unlike you and I am an unfamiliar here.
So I write and read. I alter and mother.
I define and father.

One day the world nestled in the inner corners of my mind; a cornerstone—my Adam Kadom,
will breathe life beyond this dull husk that lingers  beyond of me.
that seems to be right in front of me.

Allow me to dance between your eyes
and breathe magic into you.
I beseech you to write as well, write of this land and this will.
Consult the epinoia in your core and challenge the demiurge
that has imprisoned you.

Taste of the world and know it, taste of yourself
and be that as though you are an all-consuming eldritch entity.
Most importantly, dream. Dream, dream, dream.
It doesn’t matter what but dream and do not forget.

I hope you dream about me,
I hope you dream about love,
and I hope you dream about God.
Dream of the lights brimming in radiant splendor, an all-encompassing brilliance the stretches to every last chamber. The gift of illumination.

I hope to put you in an eternal slumber never to wake up.
Only to dream of a reality that fully lives in your mind.
To dream of a world that isn’t here yet.
To dream of a world we will bring.

I hope we meet in those lands—the floating castle amidst the hills. 

Art by Dia(@dreaming__awake) in her Epic diary