Wayward Dreams

 

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 (or 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.

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