Le théâtre des rêves
What is this world. This crazy appearing to happen.
This unfolding like no other. This incomparable unrecognisable appearance.
This insane mad house of lurid deeds.
This. This world. This earth. This matrix. This. Whatever it is.
This that has no name that can touch this.
With all the sounds it makes. With all the feelings it creates.
With all the power it gives and takes.
With all the sorrow and all the joy.
With all the imagery and movement.
Birth and death and horror and wonder.
What am I in this.
This character woven into this.
Glued into it. With nails and webs and heart.
With all its fury. With all it's woes.
This theatre of dreams and nightmares.
This rising rage
This weaving wrath.
This furious ocean..
Someone tell me what it is...
It's exactly what it appears to be.
The sound of the lament appearing to be written.
You my sweetness, however you appear to be.
Dancing in-between the sound of your own finger tips
"Nuala did you just call me for dinner or am I hearing things again?"
"Yess..lovely......Chilli. I am just finishing writing. I'll be down in five."