Monday, September 9, 2013


A random thing I wrote that's overloaded with way too many adjectives and confusing metaphors, I'm guessing. I don't really want critique on it at all, I just know one or two of my followers would like to see this particular writing, so I'm posting it.

The stars of frost fire gaze down from the sky. I’m lying among a sea of jewel-bright wildflowers, surrounded by the kitten-fluff of soft dandelions and the rosy pink-whites of clover flowers; all with four leaves. Shy, color-gleaming butterflies flutter to and fro, whispering in my ear—velvet wings tickling my face.

I remember…

But I don’t remember. There is nothing to remember. Nothing at all. None of this ever happened, none of it is happening, and perhaps none of it ever will happen.

Reality. The dreamworld. The edges blur together, like dusk, like the twilight hour; like pearl-pale moonlight filtering through the tresses of a waterfall’s rushing. What is reality? What is the dreamworld? Is reality real and is the dreamworld a dream, really and truly?

The song of the winged wolves echoes through the air, and I feel the beat of the distant thunder of unicorn hooves vibrating through my heart. The golden fur of a lion fades in and out of the shadows among the forest trees.

One difference. There is one difference that tells me where I am.

The dreamworld is safe and warm, a place where I can stay with those I love without fear of someone vanishing, where we will never be hurt. The dreamworld, made of hope and love and courage and joy, of laughter and smiles and warm embraces. The dreamworld, made of fairy-dust and flickering fireflies and a blazing light like a beacon.

The reality…

Everything the dreamworld isn’t. Darkness, darkness everywhere and nowhere. A crashing wave of overwhelming… overwhelming realness. Pain and sorrow and fear and loneliness. So much loneliness, always and forever stalking you. The loneliness with the haunting eyes, glowing with ghost-light. Thorn-sharp teeth, dragging you under the wave.

Is it any wonder? Can you blame me for the terror I feel when I think of stepping out of the dreamworld to face the reality of all things that should not be and yet are?

In the once upon a time, I left the dreamworld. I braved the waves, the hurricanes made from pain rushing through my veins. I tried to fight and failed. The waves claimed me, and I became one with them, a child lost to the sea, becoming a mystery. But then something, someone, saved me. And yet, it feels as though they left me, and are gone now.

I retreated again to the dreamworld, the place of magic and safety. Here I am and here I will stay, no matter how many tomorrows turn into yesterdays.

Soft wisps of wishes, caught high in the midnight breeze, drift from the dandelions and soar away. Free… freedom… peace…

I watch the wishes float away, following the spiraling wind-road to wherever it may lead, on and on and on.

Now I hear someone calling me from far away, a familiar voice in my head. I shiver as the fireflies dance above me.

The voice—it is the voice of the one who saved me from reality the first time. It is calling me away. It wants me to come away from this dreamworld, away from my Gray Havens. It’s telling me to be brave and leave, come back to reality.

The teardrops chase one another, trailing down my face. Please, no. Don’t make me leave, not here. How could you do this to me, after saving me from the very place you want me to stumble through again now? Don’t make me go back to reality. I want to stay here, where it’s safe and warm; where the loneliness can’t claw me and the waves can’t claim me. Please don’t make me go. I won’t come, I won’t! Never!

But the voice keeps calling me, saying it won’t let the waves and ghosts hurt me. It says I have a journey to complete, and that the path to take for that journey leads away from the dreamworld, but the end will be the end of endings; there will be a beginning.

Is there a There and Back Again?

If I don’t take a chance, and step out onto the road to tread the dawn, I may never know. 


  1. There and back again,
    sailing the dawn,
    invisible not unwoven
    and crashing
    oceans nebulas tumbling fire and crimson
    like skies of silver

    Spates of light

    Beginnings come again
    over sea and storm
    stars never stop
    their sailed course above

    Silver and fire-dust
    may come from tears
    but the streaks of colour shine
    bright in the dark
    drawing brightness
    toward the daybreak
    so tread the dawn, little star,
    there and back again.