Archive
07/29/08 - (1)
In My Dreams Why is it that, in my dreams, I'm always dying, While never growing an iota older? There, for the last sixty years, I've been ageless.
Could it be that time has no vested interest In my oneiric vicissitudes and tribulations, Has agreed to stay out of the Grim Reaper's business?
When deep in sleep's reaches, I fancy myself a Hollywood movie star, Arrested, forever, in youthful cinematic suspension,
Perpetually wrinkleless, alert, athletic, lean, Not racked with arthritis, Parkinson's, Obesity, dementia, blindness, malignant cancers.
And it's then, when I have a transitory chance To see beyond slumber, to my life, waiting to reclaim me, That I wish I could keep dying, in my dreams.
07/29/08 - (1)
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