Lying, as if in sleep, though clearly not

Wondering how many out there share this lot

On the backs of eyelids, projected scenes

Greyscale phantoms on vein-mottled screens

….

Shapes shift and drift in random flight

As clouds might in the dead of night

Ghosts with metamorphic swirl

Form in slow motion, then unfurl

….

Dawn waits to cast its calming rays

On another of many similar days

That end the same, as sleep I feign

Unable to halt imagination’s reign