Syntax of the Sleeper

Under a sky blurred with half-remembered shadows, the language of dreams
splinters — each syllable a fugitive that twists mid-thought,
drifting into a new constellation of meaning.
Here, words seep like watercolor, merging into fluid riddles
that dissolve into the pulse of a half-awakened night.

In a fractured meadow of echoes, sound and vision converse:
a whisper of “solitude” morphs into “fire,” then decays into “embrace” —
every line a chameleon, ever-shifting, reflecting the instability of desire.
Time, like a fading mural, paints itself anew with each abandoned phrase
and the syntax of our slumber becomes a labyrinth of possibilities.

Beneath the brittle framework of conventions, trees bleed letters,
and the wind recites lost verses that cascade into open air.
A river of midnight thoughts splinters into streams of paradox,
where “truth” unsettles into “illusion” and back again,
each moment a cascade of words unbound by form or fate.

Here, in the realm of the sleeper’s wandering mind,
every image is a spell of unintentional invention —
the deliberate collapse of structure forging beauty from chaos,
as if the poem itself were a living dream,
ever reweaving its own syntax with the surreal magic of now.