I drift on a cloud, I float through the air,

I feel so light, so free, so lacking in care.

My lover waits for me, he holds out his hand,

He leads me to the coast, the shores of white sand.

Together we swim in a sea of safe keeping.

My hopes and wishes all come true while I am sleeping.

I control this world, this perfect life in my dreams,

Wishing the real world would not creep in through the seams.

For I feel so small in this real world so massive,

Wars are fought but here I can only sit, passive.

Injured, broken, I'm powerless to help,

I'm feeble and damaged, little more than a whelp.

Alone in a storm of emotions and pain,

Trapped in the downpour of lost dreams and rain.

Frustrated by challenges I cannot meet,

Powerless as the world tosses me in defeat.

Embodied in an imaginary friend when sophomoric,

A comforting hero at my side was euphoric.

The first spark of that image, that possible world,

Was where my friend truly lived and my dreams were unfurled.

And as I grew older, my friend still stayed close.

She was my shadow, my disease undiagnosed.

A madness that lingered, locked behind eyes,

Wishing to break free, to tell stories, tell lies.

I learned to let my passenger free with a pen,

My friend loved the feeling I brought her, the zen.

She learned to live in my poetry, my stories, my mind,

She was my past brought forward from behind.

She swims in the seas of my dreams, she's eternal,

I write to her often, "Dear Friend" in my journal.

My mate, my spirit guide, my full heart made whole,

She is my passion, my meaning, my soul.

I was taught long ago that one can learn to master dreams:

To control the REM world, to live the extremes,

To fly, or find love, or to fulfill an aspiration,

To be free to do whatever, to find liberation!

But upon waking up, that world dissipates,

And to let go destroys the chance to self-perpetuate.

But to listen to those dreams, to remember and record them,

Keeps my story alive forever, it preserves my life, my gem.

My friend is my foe, always yearning to find paper,

And picking up the pen is all that makes that yearning taper.

But I know as long as I have my friend I'll never be alone,

I would not trade her for the world she's my voice, my microphone.

She's my closest connection to my sleeping thoughts,

She brings my best ideas and my writing onslaughts.

I guess if to anything I could compare my friend and her scheming,

I could only say they are the blessing that is lucid dreaming.