As her eyes open after a deep sleep.
Through the beaming sunrise at 6:30.
She finds herself locked in a dungeon.
Dungeon of the past.

Face swelled, hair dishevelled.
Lost in the dungeon,
Searching for a fire, desperately.
To ignite a memory or put it out.
To feel the rage or burn it out.
To hold it forever or throw it out.

As her eyes lose focus, almost subconsciously.
Through the screen, the trees, the neighboring balconies,
And flame of the gas stove.
She finds herself safe and privileged, yet shaky.
And always in periphery.

The screen, the trees and the neighboring balconies.
Always in periphery.
The dungeons of the past and the halo of the future.
The screen still blur and the eyes still moist.
The trees still there and new leaves growing.
Staring out the balcony and infusing hope.

As her eyes begin to close for a deep sleep.
Through the dull moonshine at 10:30.
She finds herself looking at a dreamy halo.
Halo of the future.

The various dreams, of running & flying,
Of wants, loss, and fool’s paradise.
She find herself on clouds, tickled pink yet panic-stricken.
Running away with misery.
Flying high with melancholy.
Living in a fool’s paradise.

-uk