Provenance

Awakening to darkened dreams
In oceans far away
Underneath a current stream
Without a word to say

Alone, no hint of musical score
To brighten or dampen mood
I’m not sure what I’m looking for
But a figment of attitude

That’s not to say imaginary
Though not exactly real
The differences make me weary
And keep me free from zeal

I treat all visions like misty clouds
Something a dreamer holds dear
Give them a shape, a purpose out loud
Hanging out wishes sincere

But that is not reality
A cut from which lies have bled
The truth is more than I can see
And knowing that strikes me near dead

And yet I keep looking for spots of mist
To grasp onto till dawn
Detatch myself should symptoms persist
And sprinkle them over the lawn

Not knowing my image’s accuracy
Whether bullseye or over par
Drives me to thinking erratically
Creating brand new scars

It breaks me down and cuts me in two
Making me lose the provenance
Which is fake and which is true?
It drives me into a trance

Just to stay awake, to stay alive
Should I lose myself in the end
Then I lose rhythm and sense of rhyme
The power to comprehend

They found me, nothing but hamstrings and fists
And they jigsawed me up with glue
Return again should symptoms persist
What’s fake and what is true?