mattress memory
soaked with the stories
unconsciously seeped
from the sleep of the mind
so much insight of midnight
forgotten by daylight
naught left but to rebreathe
that bedful of dreams
every night and again
until something of substance
some germ of a thought
clings to consciousness
disregards dawn
and comes into its own
a vague fragment of verse
words awake put to paper
awaiting a muse none too picky
who knows how to
take an ambiguous start
to a sensible finish
what poets I wonder
put sleep to such use
The Muse certainly guided you to delightful final two lines. 😉
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thanks kindly
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Oh Yesss
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much appreciated
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Rather magical take on where ‘words’ come from…a belter in point of fact.
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if only I could remember my dreams intact
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What a delicate start and what a beautiful finish! 🙂
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thank you most kindly
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Indeed . . .
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That’s where a lot of mine come from – although I don’t know about the sensible finish. I quite often just make the endings up and hope for the best. 🙂
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works for me
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