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12/11/10 - (1)
Your Dreams
Once upon a fast-passing phantasm, Which, in a cardiovascular spasm, attacked your heart, Caused your entire cognitive apparatus to collapse, You rose to the surface of your breathlessness, Gasping not for precious oxygen but all your elapsed dreams, Those visions you'd shaped, when your mind was supple, To resemble an urn throbbing with two yearning lovers.
But that last, desperate grasp happened so long ago, You can't even cast back that far, into the past. All you know, now, in your useless capacity as introspectionist, Is that the future has a nasty habit of blowing up in our faces, Clashing with our headlong paces, Bringing our progress to a clattering, clanking crash, Landing us on our asses, scattering our shattered bones' atoms.
Regarding the dreams you couldn't reach, at your demise, You have to believe that they're as breathless as death itself, As featureless as your feckless, depthlessly buried silence. But every eon or so, your imagination stirs you to wonder Whether those dreams might have survived, after all, And are thriving in some other realm, time, some other mind, Sparking that heart, filling that life, unaware you ever existed.
12/11/10 - (1)
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