When You Sleep and You Think You’re Fine

Mon, 02/12/2018 - 21:23 -- Terry1

Dear dreams of mine,

 

You are as fickle as the changing seasons,

Why won’t you do as I reason?

I want to fly across skies and blue mountains,

I want to jump over pine treetops and chase lions,

I want to have the power of a hundred warriors in my fist,

I want to discover floating islands and see if mermaids exist.

 

And yet here you are,

Over years beyond time thus far,

Making me sweat over homework with words I can barely see,

And making my scary 5th grade teacher glare death lasers at me,

And having my first day of college a scheduling disaster,

By making its campus the size of Manchester.

 

Once in a while you gift me a rare cerebral brew,

By allowing me lucid in a dream or two,

Once, I floated free, weightless,

Twice, a second of awareness.

 

But nevermind that,

I appreciate my green cat,

But If only we could record those—I’d say amen,

How fun it would be to watch again,

I swear if could show those little gems,

Box office hits I could make out of them.

 

Your bitter cranberry,

Terry

 

 

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