My dreams, more often than not, are those of the days and the hours, and the times in between, not the minutes that speed by as I sleep. The motivation to be motivated, and the inspiration to be inspired; it comes from those pinpointed moments of calm and clarity, as the waves wash over my mind.
My dreams now reside in words, written down and hidden away in a metaphorical box for no one to see. Until now.
For my dreams live in poems, and ought to be shared. And they shall.
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