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Every Time I Dream
Daydreaming in the middle of a poem…
Dreams come true.
I believe, don’t you?
Inspired by my muse.
Living a life I choose.
I’m here to play.
I wrote a poem without peculiar melodies in mind attempting to deliver some truth between the lines. Yes, in a stream of consciousness. After all, you have to let the spirit move you if you want to explore the possibilities.
But more true than anything, there are deeper feelings I have about dreams and dreams of dreaming. It hides in the back of my mind and that’s what started this stream pouring on the screen.
Langston Hughes asked in his poem Harlem:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore —
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over —
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
