along the way in the middle of a dream
i passed a thought laying on the ground
i couldn’t lift it, so i tried to write it down
then i woke without a thought or a sound

i recall thinking, this is very important
but it was a dream, what did i find?
so deep, my body still, but not my mind
i knew its meaning, not place in time

i relive my consciousness, not my sleep
what i think is not protest, only desire
or maybe fears; i walk the same to you
it might be confusing, but i’m not a liar

slumber reveals no facts, just pieces
it seems i know exactly what i want
yet i can’t remember, where is my life
so close, a kind of freedom that haunts

nobody is in charge, only individuals
each driven by the fate of appearance
neither could they know or believe
only I know of their disappearance

i saw nothing that resembled justice
a cloud cannot hold any accusations
i am not the way of fleeting memory
it is my only chance for my salvation

Comments

Mark Lecuona (author) from Austin, Texas on November 14, 2020:

Thanks Jodah. I dreamt a poem the other night and in the dream I thought I should write it down. When I woke up, it was gone.

John Hansen from Queensland Australia on November 13, 2020:

I often have very prophetic dreams, Mark, but unless I write them down immediately, I forget them. I used to always keep and pen and paper by my bed...now I am too lazy. Nice poem.