Two Responses to Pleasant Dreams

 

Where Do Dreams Go (Obsession)

Where do dreams go

When waking brings an ending to their race?

Do lives endure and flow

Though they recede to some subconscious space

Within my head?

When I arise from bed,

Do those who graced my slumber cease to be,

Or might I find their presence in a place

Beyond the shores of fading memory?

If so, I’ll wander high and low

And lose myself to bring you back to me.

 

 

Dreams of You (Appreciation)

Dreams that bridge the darkness bring me through.

In them, I’m blessed to see a smiling face

Whose beams of light the nighttime treats as true.

At break of day,

They fade away,

But I retain a whispered trace

Of you.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to post a poem next weekend. I'll probably be traveling for work. So, I thought I'd do a two-for-one thing this weekend. I started working on these two poems separately. I finished Dreams of You first, and then, as I was almost done with Where Do Dreams Go, I realized that they were somewhat related, both reflecting two different ways of responding to dreams after waking up. One probably goes too far in trying to recapture the feelings and experiences present within the dreams, while the other appreciates the (partial) memories they've left behind. I'm not one who can typically remember much from my dreams, but when I do have one that is especially vivid or that calls to mind a specific person, I'm glad for the traces that remain with me throughout the day.

Far Over the Weathered Mountaintops

Far over the weathered mountaintops

That rise above the leaves of shrouded trees

Enshrined in shadow after dusk,

An orange glowing fades to blue and black,

And evening’s kiss of cooling breeze

Restores to you the freedom that you lack.

 

Far over the weathered mountaintops

Where you had roamed so many years ago

Along a still untraveled track,

You find yourself anew upon the brink

Of summits unexplored. Now go

And find the living waters there to drink.

 

Far over the weathered mountaintops

You fly, beyond the window by your bed,

While the remnants of your body sink

And all of that confusion in your head

Disperses in a moment’s wink.

Your spirit’s on the wind, new trails to tread.

 

Some of my favorite poems are the ones where a story seems to emerge as I am writing. As I work on one like this, I feel like I am uncovering an underlying tale that already exists. While I was sitting out on my balcony (described in last week's poem), I was looking at the hills that rise up in the distance to the south, and that image combined with a line from Tolkien ("Far over the Misty Mountains cold") to inspire this poem's title. As I continued to write and think about it, a story of someone lying in bed, nearing death, began to emerge. This person looked out the window and saw mountains they had once enjoyed exploring. With those final thoughts focused on these experiences, the person's spirit passes on and heads out toward, and beyond, the mountaintops.

Upon the Balcony

I sit upon the balcony,

A drink is at my side,

And read the words of fantasy

That other authors wrote to guide

My mind to other places

Fictional and filled with faces

Different from my own.

But also, glancing toward the sky,

I watch the sun descend its throne

And cast its final rays on high

To fill the cloudy spaces,

Covering the gray with traces 

Tinged with multi-colored light.

Whether read or seen,

These evening moments lift my sight

To find the hidden sacred sheen

Of this world’s many graces.

Nightfall swiftly primes its paces,

Words and shades made one, with me, serene.

 

 

Over the past few weekends, I've started going out on my balcony in the late afternoon and reading until the sun sets. It's something I've come to really look forward to throughout the week. During this time, I often feel especially connected to the world around me, and inspiration feels closer.