this poem was written by automatic writing without conscious thought … in the night in an half awoken state


It seemed in dreams,
as shadows we
met unforeseen.
Was it reality when you and me
changed places, softly, eerily 
through mumbled voices, only you
perceived the me? 
Life is a dreamy hasty blur,
as shadows we-
each player plays and struts
and passes by into infinity.
Where do they rise and when occur
all feelings as cocooned
in spider webs of soft uncertainty?
Essential truths escape.
We dreamlike pass and act
the parts we have been given
before we finally and silently defect.
It’s destiny that leaves
uncanny marks:
We are not what we seem
caught fire from a spark,
It’s darkness, dreams
that make us act
and life that makes us dream.
With silent screams
our flames burn low,
retrieve a final sign
from ash and glow.
We dream in life
and live in dreams.
We pass each other
in some brilliant stream
that lets us meet
and also parts us fast.
And back to back, so near, so far,
we pass,
never to know, always to fear,
until in different directions
we wave good bye,
blow kisses, disappear. 


© Yutka 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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This, your automatically written piece, has turned out (I feel) to be a truly ‘lovely’ interpretation of the age old conundrum ’42’ (with acknowledgements to Douglas Adams!) I especially like, no, adore, “dreams that make us act and life that makes us dream” a phrase that is absolutely gorgeous, and which you extend upon in the next stanza. This is worthy of the nib IMHO. Thank you for sharing, Yutka.



I think I have nothing more to add after Allen. I welcome such bold attempts. Brilliant!


Sorry Yutka, I meant bold successful attempt. Please write poems of similar nature so some of us can learn. You are an exceptionally devoted and a passionate writer.

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