Sometimes I Dream

In Dreams We Wait

  One foot firmly in the past, eyes on the future,
I must go ever on because I cannot go back.
The future beckons, a bright and shining lie,
promising pleasures only dreamt of, never seen.
The past lingers, with memories of good times
and those best forgotten, each pushing ahead,
crowding like children, for a share of attention,
while I make my way through each passing day.
When at last a fitful calm finally descends,
creeping in like the night, on tiny cats paws,
stealing into the crannies of my consciousness,
and letting the day's cares slip into oblivion.
I let go of the known, accepting the failure
of another day, falling far short of perfection,
once again, no matter how hard I might have tried.  

Each day brings its own challenges, a new chance
to work on the mysteries of life in the fast lane,
another opportunity to raise the balancing act
to a fine art, fooling some people all of the time
and myself only some of the time, to my chagrin.
The day starts when the dreams end, the alarm
shrills its siren song, calling me to shower and shave,
forcing me out of the cocoon of comfortable bed
and into the cold morning, ill prepared for the day's
coming battles, confrontations and consternations.
The dreams of the night fade in the morning light,
dissipating in the harsh reality of cold, sharp steel,
and after-shave splashed on freshly razored cheeks,
in preparation of another day in paradise found
and lost, in the spaces between awake and asleep.