A sonnet I wrote under the inspiration of the Thursday Prompt

My life would write itself while I would sleep.
I’d wake then fall asleep again. I found
their roots in waking life to me were bound.
Real life would, at the time that shadows creep,
begin to roll around and build. They seep
into the mind at night and wake the hound
that leads me deep into the woods: around
until it’s lead me far into the deep.
I can’t imagine what my dreams would be
if ever dreams and life were both reversed.
I wonder at the dreams I might dream then . . .
I wonder if I’d ever really see.
Would ever with my true love have conversed?
But whose dream is it then? Who holds the pen?