Nary a whisper in sight and sound,
Yet it called to me the same.
Feverent dreams of echos,
Sharing no common theme in time.
They bring images of death, despair.
Context lost against a wall.
In a dimension where lies are fleeting,
fact in truth are inqusitive.
Decoding the message is the greatest folley,
No man shall know the time.
However upon its arrival i'm left perplexed
at this sighting lost of context.
When the sleep takes you on its journey,
the dreams it leaves it's unknown currency.