Orphaned Wishes

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The subconscious mind exists behind thought, where reality's not always real. Imbued with skills imagination wrought, it ventures beyond reason to reveal innate impulses thought cannot conceal. Curiosity ponders what could be; contemplating all the what-ifs and maybes. And sleep creates an actuality, whereas there is no cancer, no scabies, no wars, no dying, no starving babies. Orphaned wishes, tethered to dying dreams, can only come true if I adopt one. But fantasy is less subtle, it seems, like Rumpelstiltskin's gold, straw hopes get spun into tall stories that outshine the sun. As dreams set the stage, the actor in me plays roles from court jester to Lancelot. There, I'm invulnerable and carefree; slicing my way through life's Gordian knot; I steal its awe, and yet, never get caught.

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