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The Dreamer (Sonnet) by Nicholas Jones
The visions that appear to me at night
come when I sleep but stay when I awake;
they are so real they infiltrate my sight,
so vivid that their power can often make
me question my existence on this earth.
Last night I saw a stream of weird shapes
and wondered how exactly I give birth
to visions such as those my mind creates.
Yet I cannot describe what I have seen
and this inability to tell makes be afraid -
how can I not recall the horror of my dreams?
From what flaw within myself are these things made?
I can provide you with no evidence or proof
but please believe these visions tell the truth.
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