Dreams
This might not be a poem. I do not know what it is that is that a poem makes,
but it will have love, this one - this one that I'm making. And love...
Two swans with their long necks intertwined and a ring
I'd like to put on your finger sum' day. Hm, and also that song which reminds me
That you are not here and that makes me ask "Maybe I love you."
Or maybe it's "Baby, I love you." Let us begin with a question,
What if dreams are the glimpses of the other lives that we are living
In those meta-universes and elseworlds whose existence we've only pondered?
What does it matter? what if I say that I've dreamt of us together.
And to be quite blunt, I was sure I was pleased, and you seemed quite content.
I held your hand, or rather we've held each other.
"Fingers lodged like branches in the river" and it was no burden. The burden is in waking up.
I wake up and that song plays on the radio, and you are not with me.
But "Baby, I love you." I wonder if you've dreamt of us two...
too...
Wouldn't it be a bother if dreams were more than dreams and What we've seen
would be just as real as cake. I can be the eggs and you be the flower.
We're all we need to be sleeping awake.
Then I remember that song.
It tells me you're not here.
It plays on and on as I rise from my bed,
What does it mean to wake up alone,
to face the fear that you've been dreaming all on your own?
Copyright © Cris Navarro | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment