In reading today’s post of Maria Wulf’s   fullmoonfiberart.com  she talked of dreams and how one does not question the dream nor truly its significance.  Or one’s presence in it.  It brought to mind my own questions during my life’s journey at about the same age as Maria and a poem I have not thought of in years.  Only one of the many questions but it brought up a smile thinking that we all are much more similar,  one to the other,  than we are different.  I wish we as a world would learn this important maxim.  We could prove to be helpful to one another.  Imagine that!

Sweet Morpheus

Ah, sweet Morpheus,
I succumb to you as a babe
to its mother’s breast
and find in you a reality
that does not dispossess.

I walk through castles,
intermittently lost and found.
I am absorbed into a role
playing the part to perfection.
Words are given and mouthed
with a depth that defies understanding.

I move in sequence,
first here, then there,
placed by unseen forces.
Now walking, now running,
intent only on the play’s performance.
Direction matters not
nor the dream’s significance.
Reality only intensifies
the immediate action
in its precision.

Now fluid in movement, I race,
grateful as a young gazelle,
intent on bounding miles.
Always closer, never quite grasping,
the mind’s chameleon concepts.

Now congealing lethargy
finds me in the dream’s spent passion.
Evicted once again
and pushed back to the realities,
nay illusion,
from which I had escaped.
Hungering, I prod
the mind unsuccessfully,
willing myself into the somnolence
from which the dream took form.

Sufficient in its designated duration,
the dream eludes my persistent pursuit.
Elusive, challenging, tempting,
always wondering why in sleep
I question not the dream’s reality

nor mine.

Painting by
Claudia Hallissey