Sometimes I think my dreams will break,

Like crystal crashing down on hard tile.

Dreams of things hoped for while I’m wide awake,

Or those after sleeping a while.

There are three kinds of dreams we all live with, it seems,

“Sweet dreams” whispered softly each eve,

Or the nightmare ones full of abstract bad scenes,

Or day dreams, sweet hopes which we weave.

Hold them so tight that they can’t get away,

Or break in small pieces so free,

For yesterday’s dreams need to live on to stay,

But confined, only opened by me.

So I’ll pack them in yesterday’s boxes till when

I take them out to ponder a while,

Taking care to pack them back up once again,

And tie them up in bright ribbon with style.

Some have aged like fine wine, some have rotted with time,

I can’t let those that have broken break me.

I’ll sort them out into piles, some bad, some benign,

All dreams laid out for my eyes to see.

Dreamkeeping can put me on full overload,

Filled with dreams that I’ve packed up too tight.

I’ll wrap some in tissue marked, “Handle With Care”,

And throw some out the door to the night.

Then I’ll make a “dream catcher”, capture dreams new and bright.

Life shattered dreams are no good to me now.

I have just today to dance with delight,

Only dreams wrapped in tissue allowed.


Virginia Atkinson


Home / Diditmyway.net

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License