Can dreams be real? They exist
at night — in the dark
ineffable phantoms haunting us
like hazy ephemera disappearing
when we watch too long.
No — I think of other dreams,
the ivory hopes spring
for however long we have. We write
them on the clouds until
we dream up something higher.
Are dreams real before
they come true? Does it matter?
I prefer to spend energy
Finding time to nap.
A child skipped below an umbrella,
the joy of youth insulated beneath
an innocent weapon
fighting back an inclement future.
Inspired, though not inspiring,
I longed for such a battering ram
to bludgeon the plaintive
skeptic buried beneath the years.
I tinkered with my cynicism, flirting
with the optimism of youth, hoping
I might change
or at least feint near —
Instead, though, I creep back to sleep.
I lack the energy for that particular battle.