We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

 

Nothing’s ever truly as it seems...

while chancing what is real, or just a dream...

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We are all made of dreams, 

and our life stretches from sleep 

before birth to sleep after death.’

And in the sweet repose of sleep

in the obscure caches of the deep,

Morpheus invites the weary guest

to dwell inside his underworld...

And somewhere in this in-between

where things aren’t always what they seem

and all that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream;

it’s easy to be mesmerized—

to fall under this tricksters spell

exchange our heaven for his hell.

In his empire of the deep

reality cedes itself to sleep­­

our corporeal being incomplete,

and what we know and how we feel

now unresolved to what is ‘real.’

Do you await inside this trance?

Is what we had just happenstance?

And if, perchance, we were to meet again

somewhere inside this godforsaken realm,

would we meet as lovers or as friends—

For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come?

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Shamelessly borrowed quotes from two of my favorites, Poe and Shakespeare, seen in Boldface.