When I Fall Asleep…
When I fall asleep, I don’t remember my dreams of better days:
The ones of my youth when hope was sewn into my chest with steel threads,
When I believed all the shades of grey, that my eyes were just beginning to see
And even the words of strangers who whispered … as they past me on the street.
When all the imagery of my waking hours began to mix like oil paints
Then my subconscious dabbed into the colors to paint my dreams…from scenes
Of an hour before, mixed with fears from my child, and hopes of the future
From the wise old soul that was waiting, for her cue to take the stage.
My dreams now come far and few between; each one is a surprise
Barely done, half-finished when I can remember them at all.
Each one now, is a hazy sketch from an artist in a hurry
To slip back down into oblivion and sleep the dreamless night.
The Artist I once knew now no longer dreams with me
She just pastes pictures torn from books of my life
and calls them collages, so rough and carelessly made, lack-luster
boring, uninspired; so now, I don’t even try to remember them.
October 30, 2018