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?