Undertow
Dreams conflate reality, making it surreal—
blend present, past and future until they all congeal.
Therein we twist reality into a tangled fray
that’s lived at night but vanishes in the light of day.
We blunder through their memory, half knowing what is real,
trying to sort out whether we know or sense or feel.
If we could just replay them like a picture show,
we might bring to the surface their mysterious undertow.
Prompts today are: only, twist, blunder, vanish and conflate.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
For that your need Papa Freud.
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And Uncle Jung.
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Very profound poem Judy.
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Thanks, Sadje.
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You’re welcome
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