Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #104

Who knocks upon the dream door
With frantic raps unceasing, shouting,
‘Heed, heed for the day is near
For thy fixed journey’s commencing!’

A self within on memory did scour
And found no record in its keeping,
Yet the imprint of a panicked furore 
Echoed audibly in the hour of waking.

The self of dream was real and near,
A bygone portion that yet held meaning
And dared the gulfs of unconscious air
To bring its urgent purport to my being.

One more riddle is added to the baffling hours,
A new tangle knots the drift of my purpose!