Depths of Dreaming by Whitney Osburn

Depths of dreaming by Whitney Osburn

 All the new thinking is about the loss,

Coming from things I never even had,
That were stored away in a big, big chest,

On an island with the most beautiful

Tree, water clear as crystals, skies blue
As sapphire, riding boats that set us free,

Into uncharted depths into the open sea,

Of waves that crashed against the side
Of the bathtub, like giant storm demolishing
Everything in its path, to leave nothing,

The storm would sweep us back to reality,

Of bathrooms and porcelain and cold tubs,
In hotel penthouses that sat on the
Rooftop, of buildings, that seemed to the sky.

I found myself asking the same question

How did I get here? And where did I come from?

Coming back from the dream, it was all clear.

The storm had passed on, we were alive still.

Laying on our backs, in a big open
Field, that was made of what seemed to be clouds,
Day dreaming of what we wished we could do,
Like hold hands and run for miles.

It started to pour, large drops of water

Drizzled onto our faces, while we laid
On our backs in this big open field.

We both turned and looked at each other, we

Laughed until drizzles of water poured our
Our eyes, thunder struck through the sky, lightning
Loud, bright, thunder and lightning.
The storm was back, only this time it was real.