An Author's Offering

I don’t have a dream, except a dream of a dream. I have a hole instead: a hole or a pit, a vacuum that never fills up, and a thirst that is never satisfied. I look at my life through a mirror, the reflections speak to me in muffled voices, and I’m sinking down and down through the gloom, wishing my soul to sing, my essence to fly out, into the clear bright air under the sun. I have a dream to breathe, to fill my lungs and live But instead I I control my breathing and sleep, Sleep through this life and long to dream. But then… Along comes Hope and with Hope comes life, and I find it, or it finds me… And I breathe in deep, and as the air fills my lungs, I long to cry and shout, to sigh with relief, as I awake anew, from the dark, deep sleep, where I dreamed of dreaming a dream.