Contemplative Couplets: Dreaming Your Reality

Poetry Is The Vehicle of Dreams

On the edge of the world, by the side of the sea

Is a dream lying dormant, just waiting for me

To try and ignite it, to coax it awake.

I need to believe that, just for my own sake.








I once spun illusions that hovered around

Reality's borders, where hope did abound,

But soon those illusions were nothing but air

Condensing in shadows, and shadows don't care.

Perhaps it was youth that encouraged the dream.

No matter, for nothing is quite so extreme

As spinning illusions instead of a plan.

Just try building bridges with air, if you can.





Don't misunderstand; we need dreams to survive,

To flourish 'mid famine, to keep hope alive,

To temper misfortune with views of success,

To gild our own lilies with laughter, I guess.


Responsible dreamers need more than desire

To fill in the spaces and nurture the fire

Of all that they dare to imagine inside.

They need a direction imbued with some pride.


I've learned as I've aged that no matter the place,

The hour, or the decade, you must find the space

That lies deep within you, awaiting the light:

That creative spark turning "I can't" to " I might."



When I was a youth, I had skeptical dreams,

Reminding myself that life's not what it seems,

But sooner or later, the thought came to me:

I had some control over what was to be.



The things you can paint with a brush dipped in gold!

Just fill in the background; the rest will unfold

In colors so brilliant, you might be surprised

At what's been created from dreams you devised.


No crystal balls needed, no genies, no dice.

Just write your own script, and then heed this advice:

Remember, revision is part of all plays,

And so many roles can be done different ways.



So dream a direction; envision a goal;

Decide on the details entailed in your role.

Move on with assurance that dreams do come true

When custom designed and delivered by you.


If hope were a promise, I'd hope me a place

Where everyone lived in a beautiful space

Adorned with delight and devoid of despair.

Warm winds made of feathers could carry us there.



Until that occurs, guess I'll just be content

With coloring pictures that don't cost a cent

And seeing illusions as what they could be

If nourished and nurtured- with forethought- by me.


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