Hope is Still Keeping a Dream Journal


I wake, and I write, while my dreams are still solid,
Recording the mysteries locked in my mind:
Worlds within worlds, and alternative histories,
Characters stolen. I’m not sure what’s mine.

Scribbling madly to capture what’s fading.
Tendrils that linger tease what I’ve lost.
This dream engine revving, so loud in the darkness,
Now idles and sputters—no fuel, just exhaust.

Why dream of these places, these faces, these friendships?
Why notice small details that cannot be real?
I read, and I ponder. What lessons, I wonder,
Are hidden therein for my soul to reveal?

Perhaps I’ll find answers to all of life’s questions.
Perhaps I’ll find meaning or healing. In clues
Disguised as my demons in nightmarish scenes I’m
Still searching for self in illusory truths.


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