Dream (Poem)

391.  Past
(These older poems vary in refinement and are longer and rawer, like the drawings from that period.  They can express pain and confusion with little attempt to cover it up.  It's the way things sometimes are and here they are expressed directly with little or no padding inbetween.)

Dream

As a kid there were dreams where I fell,  
or was running from something or someone. 
Sometimes I was flying across a room,  
even above others on a basketball court,  
as if I had some special power
which seemed very real to me.   
      
There was a time when I didn’t sleep well,  
and dreams were not had.    
Daytime and nighttime merged    
on the same anxious level,    
never fully awake, never fully asleep  
the anxiety, worry and fear     
with me all the day.     
       
There was also a time when I slept too heavily 
as if drugged.      
Sleep was not the problem, being awake was.
The day was like a continuous nightmare,
and if I was able to be unconscious for awhile
that was a victory.
I’m not sure what dreams were like
during this period
or even if I had any.

At some point,
when I thought I had some answers,
and maybe I did,
dreams became fuller, story like,
and I stood up to various people,
confronting, correcting,
until I made my point.
Life and dreams tracked each other
for a number of years.
The consistency was nice,
and then the clarity began to fade.

Then dreams just became another part of life,
sometimes undistinguished,
playing themselves out
as I played myself out.

A few days ago a face on TV
looked as if it were fading, distant, removed,
and that night in a dream
My mother's and father's faces looked the same
as I held them,
and there was a deep piercing anguish
inside my being
as I sometimes felt as a child,
and it was as if I said,
"please, don't leave me,
I'm not ready,
Please, please, don't leave me yet."