Waking into darkness

A dream lingers

Disturbed and unwanted.

.

A dream like spilled milk

Across a table

Soaking into linen.

Never undone.

.

Instantly, everywhere, spilling milk.

Now part of this,

A moment unchosen.

.

Beginning easy,

Then running and

Pouring rampant

Into nameless unease.

.

Dream dripping onto floor

Spreading and soaking.

Waking me.

A memory uncontrolled.

.

A fear pushing inside,

In darkness.

Asleep, powerless, unable.

.

Everywhere, or just somewhere,

A fear spreading

Inside, outside,

And, finally, into my bones.

Unseen.

.

This is the dream

Born instantly into a waking memory

I never lived.

In the hushed darkness,

A terror meticulously unwrapped.

.

Or, reluctantly,

Fear buried deeply:

Real and decidedly unseen.

.

Breakfast with a side of grace, please

These things would have blackened

Like little drops of blood

Sprinkled in a flowerpot.

Becoming festering blisters

Across a life already too beautiful.

I would not have walked away happy.

Because you explained to me, gently,

In the most gracious way you could.

And I want to hear “Not yet”

And I cradle this idea in deep satisfaction.

As if something was won.

Because I know how to play it well.

Maybe I should think “never”

And hold this idea.

Because I do not understand

The full beauty of this life.

Not now. Not yet. Maybe never.

And in all of this,

I wandered upon something that I lost a long time ago.

Something forgotten almost, but still hoped for.

A friend tells me this is success.

And across a thousand years this is what I wanted.

This is what was forgotten.

Just that chance to be true.

No more than that.

Just that chance to be beautiful.

To shine on those flowers

In the only way I knew.

Yes that’s what I hoped for.

Outside,

The wind stirs the sand, uncovering those old dreams.

Those simple dreams buried deep in the flower pot.

The flowers there, now blooming so bright,

As the flowers gently sway in the wind,

How was I to know

That I would walk away fulfilled?