A poem about the dreams we have when our subconscious is analyzing what we have filtered through our cerebrum.
Maelstrom of sights and sounds
Everything but extraordinary powers
Hyperactivity conditional destiny
On duty while sleeping, leading to stories in dreams
Basting what has become of strong senses
Bulbous, bloodshot eyes are splashed with two scoops of water makeup
Applied compensation enters the fracas
Expectations caress a higher depth
Bob for wondrous reward, nothing in physical formula
Faith someone other than the prodigy will deliver
Fates rich and poor, all a moiety of seeing and hearing
Creativity sleeps well tonight
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