Ideas and Dreams

I just wrote the most amazing novel in my head while I was sleeping. My subsconsious mind weaved in and out of itself. Marvelous words, rhythms and rhyme that fit perfectly together. I meant to "wake up" and write all of it down before it was lost forever to posterity. I tried to "remember" it as my wakeful dreams floated somewhere. I fought against the pull of sleep, the heaviness and forgetfulness of subsconscious dreams. "This is too good," I thought. "You must wake up and write them down." The flow, the melody of them the poetry - Where did they come from? Almosst as beguling as Shakespears' prose. Alas I became awake - jotted down bits and pieces fo my novel of dreams - read over it in disgust. Why was the brilliance lost? Where was the splendor of words that came calling to me in my sleep to write them down? A whole novel vanished; or at least pieces of it that would have made it shine and stand out. Perhaps taken it on a path unexpected and had I been able to uncover more of this dream and capture it in a moment - what splendor! Grapes of a bestseller dangle before me! Ah, but I am awake now and my subconsious mind is asleep. But I will keep writing and more jewels will appear more grapes in these vines of tangled thorns. Without wrting my brain will shrivel and die. It needs the spark of words to give it life again.