A poem about waking up and what is seen in that half awake half asleep state in between.

I grasp at the tiny wisps of passing dreams.
Dreams of what has come before and what comes after.
A conundrum of experience shrouded over by sheer delight.
As my eyes begin to perceive more and more of what is right,
Of what was and what might yet be, I behold the vision before me.

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