When you've reached my age,

and know you're a dot,

like the sands of the Ganges,

indistinguishable from innumberable other dots,

tiny, insignificant dots,

it can be hard to 

wake up in the morning.

It's more fun to lie in

bed and dream.  Dreams 

happen all by themselves, cost

nothing, and use little energy.

I've dreamt a lot in my lifetime.

I've recorded hundreds if not 

thousands of dreams--analyzing

many of them,

seeking another means of perception,

or of reality itself.

But I can't say for sure

that has happened.

All I can do is ask:

Who or what would I be

if I hadn't looked at all

those visions from another place?

Could I write this poem?

Could I write any poem

or draw any picture?

Would I be in the same room,

sitting in the same chair, 

writing about dreams?

Have dreams made 

me happier, less anxious,

more confident, complete, and realized,

a nice person after all?

I have no idea.

Has it all been a

waste of time, time better

spent at work, or 

playing with pets?

What if I couldn't do anything

if it wasn't for my dreams?

What if all I could do

is sit here and not

have my dreams to write about?

What if I was a fish swimming

deep beneath the sea

with no dreams at all?

What if I was still a child,

or a teenager, rather than an

old man hoping

for a few more

good years?

Have I changed a little bit?

Without dreams, I'd see things

differently, no doubt, even if

I don't know what that would be.

If I dream tonight, I hope

it's a big dream that

connects me with the light

of the universe, if there

is such a thing.

I wish for a direct encounter,

I always have.

When I wake in the morning,

I'll see everything differently.

I'll see reality exactly as

it is without fear.

My shadow will withdraw

from the universe.

I'll be happy to be alive

no matter what I have to do,

who I have to see, what news

I receive, no matter

who lives or who dies,

including myself. 

That would be

a nice dream

at my age.

      Dedicated to Marion Woodman, "look for those who also wander."

Views: 77

Comment by Ben Sen on July 27, 2018 at 11:23am

What my poem is to you, and what my poem is to myself are two different things, and they each need to be respected in my view.  I wrote this poem mostly because I had to.  I don't know how many years its been in me, but its time came.  I can only hope you like it, but if you don't, or are confused by it, that is your decision and I respect it.  I think the same rule applies in anything we create.  As an artist, we can initiate, but we can't confirm if and when we communicate.  The reader or listener has to do that.

Comment

You need to be a member of Our Salon to add comments!

Join Our Salon

NEW BLOG POSTS

1 Sentence GRIFTERS & MURDER

Posted by Jonathan Wolfman on October 19, 2018 at 1:39pm 5 Comments

Little Red Rooster

Posted by alsoknownas on October 19, 2018 at 9:04am 9 Comments

The Media and the Midterms

Posted by Ben Sen on October 18, 2018 at 9:30am 6 Comments

Not Since 1916...

Posted by Ron Powell on October 18, 2018 at 9:30am 8 Comments

A Feature, Not A Bug

Posted by Robert Young on October 18, 2018 at 8:51am 3 Comments

Hitman Jesus

Posted by Safe Bet's Amy on October 18, 2018 at 8:11am 0 Comments

© 2018   Created by lorianne.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Privacy Policy  |  Terms of Service