"Was is a vision or a waking dream, fled is that music...do I wake, or sleep?" (Keats)

"King Sleep was father of a thousand sons -indeed a tribe - and of them all, the one
he chose was Morpheus, who had such skill
in miming any human form at will.
No other Dream can match his artistry
in counterfeiting men: their voice, their gait,their face - their moods; and, too, he imitates their dress precisely and the words they use most frequently. But he mimes only men..."

We are constantly tossed about like ragged puppets hanging from ropes that swing and constrict...all in a moment, a fleeting lapse.

Oftentimes the smartly dressed gentleman wondered about his futile existence and tried in vain to demarcate the boundaries between the repugnant reality of life and the sickening mimicries that haunted the passage of his dreams. The vulture's pale yellow eyes mirrored his deceit, and watched as he writhed between the two worlds that swirled around him.

To one thing constant never.

And like a boat that slowly slid down the ghostly wards of Lethe he slides towards his fate. The brotherhood of sleep and dreams curl into the mystical vacumn, the ground whispers into his ear about the time of the Parcae.

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air...not so happy, yet much happier...Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none."

The defining element lies in success. The trailer before the tragedy flickers in shades of grey across the dusty screen. To one thing constant never.

(Dervied from Ovid - Metamorphoses)