Dreams have their moment,
They awaken into the night of time.
They can be a form of enjoyment,
They also bring feelings uniquely mine.
They are born it seems of a spark of hope,
Hanging down from Heaven on a flimsy rope,
To become torches burning with a sacred fire,
That can cause conflagrations of human desire.
The cold night is speckled with mystic wonder,
Little surprise, then, to feel struck by thunder,
When eerie mists encircle the light of the moon,
Lost in night’s country, falling to earth in a swoon.
The dreams are immutable in a night that isn’t there;
They live forever with wavelets of hope to spare.
Perhaps that’s why we dream, to feel safe for a while;
Images and events float past offering hope in their style.
As we awaken, the eternal night of time disappears;
We are aroused to full consciousness as the day nears.
The night of time returns to where it is born in eternity;
Our dreams unveiled for a moment to reveal their mystery.
Oh, if only I could have the kind of dreams and interpretations leading to hope. I find that dreams are used to help resolve a problem that in the conscious state, is trying to be forgotten, short of a resolve. Of those, I have many, given my 50 years with Hollywood people, who by habit, tend to leave many of us with shattered impressions of the La La Land so many think it is. But, that's just me. I know others who would bear out your theory here. Nice write.
You seem to honor dreams as very positive things that come to us in ways that enlighten and thrill us with their magistracy. You didn't write anything of the cyclic dreams of impossible riddles or the dreams of absolute horror--nightmares. Perhaps you wanted to put them out of your mind. Granted, I do, too. But find them to be part of this thing called, Nighttime.
Yes, dreams are uniquely our own. When we awaken, those dreams are quickly fade, but there are a few that linger on and leave us pondering their meaning. Dream on.
Dreams! Such a mystery! Your line, " Perhaps that’s why we dream, to feel safe for a while;", really hit home. I have had dreams I did not want to wake up from. Then, there are those nightmares, rare, thank goodness.
Ah . . . Nighttime and dreams (some nightmares) go hand in hand with the other. This then, is the way of our world. Without the night we would never see a sunrise.
From First Love to its destructive end and on to new beginnings, Mary Angela Nangini's poems explore the birth and death of a relationship. The powerful poems are presented in two parts with an introduction to her next book My Ontario Beautiful. (Th
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
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Ron
Love ya!
Jane