The Dream is dead.
I'm not sure when it happened.
One minute, it was lying peacefully
In the bed next to me
Where I once thought my sentinel belonged;
It was breathing the last time I checked;
The next minute, I felt this rush of cold air
Swoop in and settle.
I reached for the Dream
But found only a stiff, cold corpse.
I'm not sure when it happened.
I fed the Dream,
Built fires to keep it warm and alive,
Bathed every cell in love and hope,
Infused the Dream with my own energy and immunities
Like I would my own child.
Now, gone,
And I'm not sure when it happened.
All I know is that, now,
The blue lips and ghostly palor
Cannot make use of the life
I still wish to breathe into it.
It's simply too late.
The Dream has passed away, somehow, with time
And I'm awake and alone,
At last,
Wondering how in the world I let this happen.

07/01/2006

Posted on 07/01/2006
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie