Dreams. They could have been of concrete. Of bricks, with the mortar of motivation holding them together. They were once. But now, they are a deck of cards. A house of cards as a child would make in his spare time, Waiting for the wind of time Or perhaps the storm of age To blow them away.
Scattered, they are now. I can see each card. Each has countless hours within it, Countless hopes; But now there is no mortar. All of them seem to be lying. Lying, in both ways of the meaning of the word. Waiting to be picked up and truly acted upon.
Waiting to be picked up. By someone who is within me somewhere. One doesn’t remember all the lectures, the classes and the practice sessions. But they are imbibed, they make me. Or is it him?
Priorities, what a funny little word. A menacing word. Change. Another of its relatives?
I slumber into a Magical Dreams A castle appears from five magical beans A kingdom up in the air I mount a flying horse That takes me their Giants are counting golden eggs Rocking themselves in musical chairs I own
A dream what is that exactly, a reason to live, love, laugh, follow your heart. His heart, her heart, your heart, my heart, their hearts even our own hearts, from that first newborn smack on our baby bottoms, to wail
When the night was full of terrors, As a child what you had encountered in your sleep with the demons or devils, Or the beautifully adorned prince or princesses, The superheroes and the fantasies and yet some more- “Dreams” ,