Huxley talks about the doors of perception
Something closed that can be opened
Dreams are manifest as elements of story
A dream narrative that ebbs and flows
Through the open doorway.
But,
When you wake and reach to capture the dream
It fades and vanishes
The absolute truth that you held firmly in your fingertips
Slips away and evaporates like summer rain
The more you try to pin it down
The less tangible it is
Until all that is left
Is a vague construct
Of a murmured wisper
In a crowded room
For dreams,
The doors are forever closed
All we can hope for
Is to press our ears against the door
And catch an echo of those hidden secrets within
The dream was never meant to be revealed
It has locked the door
And thrown away the key.