The ability to dream, to imagine a world, a life
Different from the current existence. The day to day
Normalcy that fills the waking hours, leaving
A man hollowed. Filled to the brim with emptiness.

Dreams can be large, life altering creatures clamoring
For attention. Consuming energy and time in a tunnel vision
Driven marathon, leaving a man exhausted, gasping for
Breath. Stumbling as if caught suddenly in a cold winter rain.
Laughing.

Dream can be small, joy filled ideas easily ignored.
Easily entertained. Filling the mind with inspiration
Like thousands of small puzzle pieces connecting.
Interlocking. Creating an every shifting image of what could be.

Dreams speak to us of possibilities, depicting
Airbrushed pictures of perfection. Promising much.
Guarantying nothing. A dream, whispered softly to the stars becomes
A folly in the day light. A pile of broken glass sparkling
in the long winter of shattered idealism.

The death of a dream does not begin the death of a man.
A man begins to die when his desire, the desire to dream
Expires.

But. Hatched slowly, incubated by time and pressure
A dream is born. Like a wobbly, newly birthed fawn
It takes on its own life, its own existence. Fully formed,
The dream metamorphosizes creating a new reality
From the shattered glass of the old.

After all, dreams are delicate and fickle.
A soft hint of a whisper on a cold fall breeze. Easily
scared off. Easily dissipated.

Dreams. Delicate dreams flitter through the air
flirting, teasing with our humanity. Fragile.
A dream within a dream.

Click above to hear an audio version of the poem.

©j.alan 2007