What If

What if this dimension doesn’t exists?
And if all we know and hope to learn
is a delusion of someone’s indigestion
who died eons ago
in another realm
where flesh and blood are in fact
mere hallucinations
with inanimate objects
the only actual form of life?

Or perhaps reality is a spiral
of ascending levels in consciousness
connected by dream silk,
where we slide along its threads
before birth and after death,
in between having flashbacks.

Then all the minds we call insane
would be prophets and seers
along the entwined invisible lairs of existence,
leaving what we think is chaos
being the wisdom
that is truth
beyond this place
where we dwell.

Déjà vu and nightmares
serving as the soft and numbing echoes
from the night touches of the brain,
which visit terraces in lucidity
nagging at our thoughts
as abstract images
we just never can explain.