A Moratorium on Dreaming

Madcap dreams of long lost ghosts,
twisted visions of a face reveling in glorious sepia 
these memories a fog,
for future laments and past loves.
Who truly is the ghost?
I the grief-addled crater of a man?,
or he the face that flashes across my view?

madcap dreams of the merest of touches,
twisted visions of melancholy, once love.
love as real as the bed I rise in,
shaking,
crying,
willing myself to be lost to the sleep.

I wonder,
how long before I lose the memories?
and I am left,
with the bed I rise in,
gasping,
paralyzed,
willing myself to be lost to the sleep.
to madcap dreams of a single look,
twisted visions of need and want, for me alone.
but the tears taint my memory,
leaving only the wisp of a former beauty,
long faded,
but not long past.

This one is another reflective poem which I wrote in a fever-dream day and night my hands tapping away my petty emotions, but I hope you enjoy regardless of my cliched emotions