I love the quick look,
Interest can provoke.
I love how we only check to see,
When really we want to know what’s underneath.
What is true no matter the carnage,
No matter the latter,
And no matter the time held.
The connection hangs in the balance,
Of how much time could be left,
And how much time is stolen.
How much time provides,
And how much time can confide.
How much a moment of time can provide for those of the unlikeliest,
And for those of the fated.
How much I yearn for those moments to be acted out with clear intent,
So we really knew what each other meant.
But that’s not what is meant.
What is meant,
Is the dreaming of possibilities that play out our fantasies,
And defeat our enemies.
While capturing and pinpointing what our heart truly desires,
In the form,
In the body,
Of a stranger.
Who barely knows the likes of us,
And has no measure of what could contain within us.
The expectations of our dreams buzz in beneath our skin,
As we all sit,
Looking mindlessly dazed out from within.
The kids in all of us want to scream and cause disruption,
But we sit content in the midst of planning our current dream’s construction.
Dreaming about possibilities,
That really we wouldn’t want to occur,
Because the point of the dream is not to come true,
Instead it is a contraption of distraction,
That fills us with a delightful reaction.
While it’s purpose is to fulfil it’s session,
We leave feeling unsettled,
Due to the dream’s progression.
Is this your stop?
Our dream screeches to a halt.
As soon as you step out those doors,
Our tale is forgotten and lost.
Farewell fellow dreamer,
May your dreams grow in number,
And I hope to see you again on the rail road track slumber.