posted in: Facets of the Past, Poetry, Writing | 0

I dug this dusty old poem of mine out of my writing folder not to long ago and it made me smile. It’s just me trying to figure out me. It’s imperfect, but I kind of like it that way.


For so long, I’ve been reaching.
Stretching, straining, groping —
Fumbling in the dark;
Fingers closing on nothing.


For so long, I’ve been sculpting.
Stretching, flexing, molding —
Carefully creating forms;
That in the end, resemble nothing.

My imagination has long been this curse,
Tormenting me with things that cannot be.
It is not fair, that I cannot make my life
Resemble all of the wonderful ideas
That I have for it.

I am a parent, with years of experience
Convinced that I know what is best;
I know how things should be.
And my life is my child,
Forever uncooperative.

Damn you, imagination!
If you did not torment me with your
Endless possibility,
I would never know
What I am missing out on.

But today,
I was lying on the ground,
Envisioning all of things that
Would probably never come,
Lost in a dream of maybe
When it hit me.

The gift of my imagination
Is that so much of it
Never will be.

This long lamented curse
Is actually a boon;
Only I did not have eyes to see.
While my experiences may forever thwart me,
My imagination will be eternally loyal.

Whenever things do not go
According to carefully laid out plans,
When life does not live up
To my mightily important ideals —
All I need do is close my eyes,
And everything I have ever wanted

Infinite possibility.

Like awakening
In the middle of a dream
To discover you are still dreaming,
The lucid can choose a new path.
I can close my eyes, and choose
Another outcome.
Or ten outcomes,
Each better than the last.

In my mind, I can have
A perfect experience.
And even if I open my eyes,
And the world around me
Looks nothing like I want it to,
I can close them again whenever I want.

I do not ever need to force an experience of
I don’t need to cling desperately to desires
Or hopes, or wishes
That only fill me with sadness and frustration.

The stars in the sky can go on extended vacation —
I do not need them to hang around
While I ask them to fulfill my requests.

I can simply dream
And find deliciousness in dreaming.

For in dreams, you can do anything.
There are no rules, no boundaries —
Not a single limitation to speak of.
And consequences?
Forget about it.
Every imperfection is smoothed over,
Every frustration dissolved.
Every whim can be lived out,
Sampled and tasted and savored.

And when you open your eyes,
You no longer resent the imperfections,
Or the frustrations.
You appreciate them,
Because they give you more reason
To dream.


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