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A Dreamy Stupor

there i am
floating circle-y around
dreaming dreams already dreamed for me
and bending low, i pick up
daisies, roses
and everything in between.
static and stationary
yet always moving
bumbling between what i see
and is really happening
still, there are violets and blues
hues of which
i couldn’t give nor choose
where the flames of hell
meet stalling graces
and like wild horses chasing hills
i chase faces
in a dreamy hope
that will be and all that was
and all i am becoming
matters not for this
(and in it is the question):

when the world stops
where will i be

and                   who                 are                    You?


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