*Violet Shroud*

Inspired by a glimpse into a near-death experience, this poem explores the heavy stillness of a mind suspended under a violet sky, where the familiar sheds its certainty.

‎I had a dream and the clouds were purple -
‎not the soft pink of dawn, nor the grey of rain,
‎but violet, heavy with questions unspoken,
‎a canopy hung over the bounds of what is sane.
‎
‎They moved without purpose, yet with intent,
‎as if the sky itself were pondering existence.
‎Beneath them, the world held its breath in thought,
‎suspended between substance and evanescence.
‎
‎In that light, the familiar shed its certainty.
‎What I knew seemed merely a borrowed notion,
‎and silence became the only honest tongue -
‎a language beyond reason, beyond motion.
‎
‎I woke to blue, yet the colour remained,
‎etched into the mind like a truth half-revealed:
‎that perhaps reality is but a veil we wear,
‎and dreams are where the unseen is unconcealed.
‎
‎We call it waking when the illusion holds,
‎yet who is to say which state is more real?
‎The dream had no answer, only the shadow
‎of a thought the waking mind cannot conceal.
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