Soap Bubbles and Jagged edges

Strange spheres revolve through the depths of my visions

Of times gone past, and times to be

Many places I have gone to, many sights I have seen

But never enough

 

In the night, the spheres assail me with their visions,

Curled in bed, I see their lights shining prettily, and I touch them

Some of them sting, some of them soothe, some of them caress me softly

With dreams of bygone things and things to come

And things that may never be

 

Reality is a jagged edge of rusted metal,

Cutting, ripping, infecting pure spherical bliss

Hiding from it never helps, separating the spheres from the metal

Only shatters them

 

I fling them at the rusted knife, the concrete floor, the broken saw of reality

The only way I know to separate soap bubbles from solidity

And I will cry over the twisted shattered wreckage, picking through the pieces of my dreams

Something will survive,

won't it?

 

And I will treasure it, like a perfect marble, a universe to explore,

And hold it tight within my hands

And walk towards the rust