What lies within the liminal space?
The space that falls in-between?
Where the previous story
has already ended..
but the next one has yet to begin?
A moment of stillness
between our fall from heaven
and our original sin.
An invisible seam
between consecutive episodes of a show..
which stitches two realities together
but, to the viewer’s eye,
is never shown.

Beneath the bridge
that interlinks two stories
seems to lie a gap..
An emptiness and an abyss
of the mundane.
Wherein The Poet grasps at straws
and gasps for air..
and seemingly his struggles are in vain.
Wherein The Poet’s aspirations shorten..
Wherein his inspirations seem to wilt.

In truth, however,
right beneath the bridge..
there runs a river,
rich with silt.
Upon its either bank
it is surrounded by a fertile soil..
A ground upon which future works
are dutifully built.
Wherein the seeds of inspiration
are by The Poet wisely sown..
It houses, and it nourishes,
and it protects them..
until the moment comes
when they are fully grown.

The moment when they blossom,
as beautiful flowers in bloom..
Is the moment when The Sun
sheds strongest light upon them..
and upon The Moon.
And then The Moon,
in all its reinvigorated
beauty and might..
Pulls with new strength
and new authority
upon The Ocean’s tide.
And then they dance together once again,
more beautifully than ever before.

Then I awake.. and realize.
That it was nothing but a dream.
A dream.. and nothing more.
And then the old grandfather clock strikes four.
And then I hear a silent whisper in the night..
A silent whisper from The Devil:
“Perhaps the only way to ever dream again..
is never to awake.. to dream forever.”