OF WHAT ARE DREAMS MADE?
By John Herlihy (Wednesday 3/1/18)

Of what are dreams made?
An unlikely question, waylaid.
Dreams tied with frayed rope,
Wishes and desires, lost hope.
They come alive in the mist;
Their story has their own gist.
Some say bobbles of the mind;
Lies others say who are unkind.
Some build their life on dreams;
That life is never what it seems.
Others build their life on desires;
That lose luster in the dying fires.

In them dreams he feels pain;
There they are, just wet as rain.
Inside, a sadness like a splinter;
He felt it in there sure as winter.
He knew the dreams were unreal;
But that didn’t lessen the appeal.
Some ask him about his dreams;
Unseen within, a third eye gleams.
Yet feeling like somethin’ to hide,
He dared not the dreams describe.
The dreams made him feel small,
Their airy wonder reaching up tall.

You ask how dreams are made?
From gentle mists that will fade.
One thing though he knew for sure;
The glorious dreams are bound to lure.
Loving dreams have us reality despise;
We relive a thousand times in our lives.
Dreams do much to soften the edge;
In sorrow’s misery, they drive a wedge.
In daylight, dreams seem but shadow;
But in darkness, they do mercy bestow.
Give me my dreams; I’ll take the chance;
They may in turn become happenstance.

The dreams there in lakes and clouds,
Mist enters the vale as funeral shrouds.
Dreams found in the blue sky and sea,
What he sees as an alternative reality.
His dreams not only there for chasing;
To follow them, he would end up racing.
What would he be if they weren’t there;
When they are there, he takes every care.
It doesn’t matter if they don’t come true ;
They filled him with worlds he never knew.
When anyone asks if dreams are of jade,
He now knows of what dreams are made.