Before dawn-break, I often wake up
the room still dark, curtains drawn;
a pinprick glow from my nightlight
clown with downcast troubled face
keeps me from stumbling around drunken.
I can't shake off the feeling
I am having dreams of another life,
real or not. This inspires me
to go back to sleep, and there wave
a magic wand to reshape my life.
Like a writer given the license
to build a plot, conquer worlds
with flair and ease, I can steer a course
beyond a road not snagged like tangled threads.
away from a crazy necropolis of twists and thorns.
But the dreams are hazy when I open my eyes,
sleep sloughing off as I grope into my mind
looking for something wonderful to hold on to
I am befuddled, a sense of disconnection
bothers me, holds and bewilders me.
Dream images follow me around
like shadows I don't wish to evade,
like the scent of wilted flowers
flirting with me - my unhappy clown
blurts out a merry haha, gives me the finger.