Poetry written by a tormented teenage boy. A Dream Within a Dream.

(except in the mind of the poet.)

Poetry written by a teenage boy,

Whose short life knows no joy,

with a burden to bear,

that he cannot share,

for there is no one there,

to hear his prayer,

to trust, or to care.

Last Night in A Dream-
I dreamed a dream, and in my dream,
i dreamt that i was dreaming.

Last night, in a dream, i dreamed a dream.
In one of my dreams, i was bad it seems.
For within that dream, i dreamt, indeed,
that i imbibed in too much libation.

When I awoke from my stupor,
still in a dream,
I saw a flash, a light beam,
in a cloud over the head of
the character in my dream,
that i was playing.
I heard the words that I said,
about things that were next to come,
when after the dreams i awaken.

I am dreaming in a dream,
that I am dreaming in a dream.
But which of these dreams is real?
Transcendental meditation is
only the dream where reality
merely appears, to be real.
Dreams are still only dreams,
but are they?

What is a dream?
What is real?
Are they both but a dream in reality?
To live in a dream,
is only a dream,
and a dream can be real if you let it.

What is left to give me joy at my age?
Just another step through this Dharmic maze.
A dream is a dream,
and all that there is;
for nothing real can compare
to the dream that you live in.

I dream of love, i dream of joy.
Nothing comes.
There is no real dream.
The real is now, so live your life
in whichever dream
you choose to live in..

the beginning, or the ending?

My poetry comes from pain;
a deeper pain than you can ever imagine.
One that reaches to the very center
of the essence of man.
From the core of your being;
Your eternal soul.
The pain is real. Too much pain
for a seven year old child
to have to endure.

Through many years
that pass too slowly;
with pain that is never ending.
The pain is real;
for all of those years,
and all of those tears.
Too much pain
for a seventy seven year old
man to have to endure.

And still they live on,
invading my dreams,
whenever i dream,
and i always dream.

Paying a price too dear,
for an unkind deed,
in a life, that is long past,
Is the lifelong gift,
for eternal redemption,
that will last and last,
year after year;
Until we dream no more,
and our conscience is clear.

We will all return to this dream,
again and again,
for each offense,
made in a dream,
until we reach full complement,
for the pain,
and the harm we did cause,
in the last dream
that we dreamt.

by: d.william