Falling Dreams Again

When I first awakened into that dream—

And it was a dream, right?—the blaring colors,

The vibrant sounds—what a cacophony—

All I could think of was getting home—

So far though, so distant, like a star in the sky,

Twinkling ever so slightly—so far.

And a stench of fear—why did it fill me so?

I knew not how I got there, of course,

Like all dreams—yet the feeling

Of being lost was so overwhelming—

Coupled with excitement—anxiety?

The air dripped with fantasy and

A pungent smell of possibility.

The ground shook, vibrated—an oddly

Comforting earthquake, it seemed.

Trees danced, and I danced along,

Tapping my feet to the rhythm of the wind—

Rainbows formed—sounds of laughter rose

And fell, and I fell—oh, the falling—

Into a black pit, an abyss of blank imagination,

I fell and spun—my feet dangled endlessly—

My head swirled as I’m sure it did, this dream.

(Could it be a nightmare?)

I saw my childhood—my forgotten days,

Clothed in vague beauty—so dangerous—

So deceptively luring—Home! Home! it called—

But where? The womb?—the grave?—

I remember, the stars, yes!

Stop falling! I yelled. But no sound.

Stop falling! I screamed—I pleaded, cried.

But no sound—no answer—

Only silence that hung—until I closed my eyes and

Finally I fell into the reality of the following morning.