it is the time of sleep.

one side of the world an effervescent black,
another side a dull spectrum of colour,
and the rest, a gray timeless mix of the both.
as like the rest of the universe.

lying in the shadow of a shadow.

and eyes are closed, the wondrous dark plentiful,
but ears open and white noise ecstaticates in silence,
senses nullified as the body warms the sheets.
as does everyone, sooner or later.

for a while the dark is perfect.

the brain cools inthroughout, the body feeds and heals,
the stomach squirms and dissolves the energy,
the sheets go cold and the body moves.
as is the way it is every night.

then there is a memory or something else.

it stirs the figments of sub-thought,
it recollects the dimensional flash photos,
it hears and sees and feels and does everything again,
as there must always happen.

then there is a rupture, a seam in the fabric.

the beautiful dead gray that is the dream is lost,
the silent hiss that is the mournful toll is gone,
the glorious wash of illogic non-thought slinks away.
as the real world dreadfully returns.