My Sternum, The Wormhole

Dream journal

The vivacity of a vision starkly contrasts to it's hueless blue, bleak landscape.
Then awakening, I know only of the somnolent haze that is often the makeup of dreams.
In those vague recollections I sift for the meaning, for it's message.
Has a plague passed or yet to come? I have looked and not seen the absent equestrian.
Looking gruesomely ill, this once black beauty prowled with severity in its eyes;
It's temperament heard by hooves stamped in-ground.
Galloping circles round me, velocity manifast turbulent revolutions of energy and lights,
Suggestive of change, a forebodive premonition.
Then, a wormhole, I think, was formed and flowing through me.

Author's Note

A once through, no editing