For those of you who have experienced the same dream over and over about family, prodding you to evaluate its meaning, this piece about young sons of the past might resonate. (Image by Parallel)
The You of Me
by Odin Roark
Dreams awaken beneath closed eyelids,
wishing to tell you that which may never find utterance,
for like roads presenting destinations,
time’s passage reduces the once capable surface
to dust clouds making less visible the distant horizon.
Sleep’s images grow restless…
As digital magic bends around rampant obstacles,
and myriad antennae rise,
beckoning unsealed letters to speak gently,
even as the breath of time's memory grows shallow
amidst shifting ebbs of change,
one’s dwindling faith stays afloat,
riding passion’s high and low tides.
Reality continues taking its toll,
clashing passion’s rainbow
with painful storms of regret,
leaving behind only remembrances as memento,
while the downpours of yesterday,
slowly flood our once tomorrows.
In my slumber,
time asks I never cease sending
the quiet ripples of my trust
to hopefully quicken the beat of your heart,
beckoning we reposition yesterday's compass
and find a future destination.
And then again…
Perhaps visits will remain as dreams,
for the ethereal knows unspoken love
can still be heard.
We have but to listen,
to allow the inherent echo
that never dies to remain
the you of me,
the me of you.