Wayward the dreams come and go, just staying long enough
to make the impression they
should, a deep-felt fissure in our sleep
where the replacement is made, where what was…is now what is
that we barely detect with held
breath, a shudder felt slight (but deep)
things change all the time; sometimes with a bang, but…sometimes
a whimper and a cry so soft
that its often never heard (heard clearly)
the changes within our souls, the hue and cry of inner landscapes
shifting
changing…ever changing…what we
feel most often and dearly
time is such a mean bastard yet the kindest soul we know in this
life
it allows us perspective, it
suspends disbelief, it pushes us to innovate
it creates the need to define our reactions to these many varied
changes
it pushes us and pushes us to
reach deep inside in order to create
some create with words and pen, some with brush and pigment on
linen
some with sound and voice that
touches us deep within heart and soul
some with kindness spent haphazardly on the many in need of it the
most
…some with a single kiss on
lips prevented prior; a frailty rising, a deep hole
as sang; dreams ebb and flow and sometimes they travel away from
home
left to our own we imagine with
eyes closed…that the dreams haven’t left
a sleep not restful, moving and fitful; ultimately exhausting;
mercifully brief
walking in a land of fevered
choosing, thinking inevitably of our death
and while we do this, we don’t do so in a somber or darkened
manner
just knowing that the journey
ends one day is empowering for the time we have
where we are, who we are, what we are and what we hope we will be
are all the things we imagine when
our dreams are a thing of the past
happiness happens when we give up the idea of being happy and just
are
whomever we turn out to be and
we smile knowing that it all will continue
with us, without us, with the rest of the universe cheering us to
greatness
with the rest of the universe
not caring who we are; good/bad, old/new
the end of the story is never just “the end”…only the backside of
a new beginning
because as we live and converse
with time; we can only look in a forward direction
we usually can’t see the other side…unless we learn the elusive
trick to do so
the other side of the end, the
place where our souls will make a selection
the trick? The elusive trick? That is not written down in any book
or on the lips of any man?
It is buried deep within all of
us, an attribute of our DNA maybe or a structure in a cell
It is within us and without us and a part of the everything and
nothing at all
It is the thing that is us, the complete “us”, the thing that we can never
really tell
we are dissatisfied with these words but they make the sense
they are supposed to or that they can
they point us to other thoughts, other wayward dreams, in order to help us
figure out
things that we are allowed to know…by our DNA, childhood, the
universe and just ourselves in fact
they are the things that lighten…and eventually bleach into whiteness…all of
our doubt.
