The phone rings.
I answer, hesitantly.
I smile, we greet,
Exchange pleasantries.
But then the silence breaths.
And within the silence I hear
voices screaming
telling me to be
what they want me to me.
I turn off the lights
to soften the sounds,
Smother this distraction
Conceal the frowns
But darkness is a trickster, see.
He reveals visions of dreams,
wishes of a soothing destiny,
perfect figures singing sweet harmonies.
I slide under the covers
While the dreams play on
teasing me, above they hover
waiting for me to discover
The answer, the desire
To which I’m to aspire
When I come to my senses
with a maturity she’ll admire.
And then again the silence breaths.
And eventually the light comes.
Yes, in the morning the light comes.
The world I see is not static scenery.
It’s not fantasy.
It lives. Grows old. Fails miserably.
The dreams?
They’re a timeless success
With no beginning or endings
And no sins to confess
But why do we want them?
Why do we want to make what we want to see
what we see?
Why can’t we see what is
and just let it be?