Snippitts of Illusions

The dreamer rests alone sleeping in seclusion, waiting for the day, to be awoken from his rest. Delving in the bitter sweet darkness of his dream, his mind, turbulent and shaken from it's nest, wakes from certain amplitudes to the surface of the pool where in it was made to wander in his dream.

Upon this waking, while not in full, he's made to glimpse an image here or there, of reality that surrounds. While not consious of these images, they change the nature of his dreams from pleasant to the dark In compound fear he waits for the end to come to his slumber from the abbattior that suddenly appeared.

The furry of the dreams rise to escalated heights beyond the hopes and desires of the demons of the night. He's calling out now to the darkness from his sleep, begging pleading to be awoken from his fight, when gently stroking him, an angel in his dreams, banish the demons to the unending pages together in his thoughts so reamed.

With a burst of energy his slumbering form erects itself from the plaugues and palors of its visions. He takes in his surroundings and breaths anew once more the awakening world, to close the incision that was made. He trembles for a time before righting himself for the day to settle into his grisly reality and once more forget that which he feared.

posted by F.G. Shaw @ 2:23 AM