The Book Of Waking Dreams
By Steve Cavin
Between the daily wide awake,
And nightly fade to black.
Amid the things you might have done,
And things you can't take back.
There lies the book of waking dreams,
And stories half-remembered.
When all the fires of the day,
Have cooled to glowing embers.
No daydreams for an afternoon,
Nor terrors of the night.
No monstrous nightmares, half-believed,
Nor stories that delight.
But dreams that often seem so real,
You'd think you were awake.
A blend of what you think and feel,
Whose truth is what's at stake.
I've seen a place I'd like to be,
And walked the yard outside.
I've folded space, and climbed a tree,
Taken bubbles for a ride.
I've hidden from a murderous mob,
Stood naked in a crowd.
I've flown and fallen, broken rules,
Exceeding what's allowed.
To awaken from a dream, and find
That things are not quite right.
Then wake again, a second time,
In bed, at morning light.
You ask yourself, which one is real,
And which is make-believe?
How many more, has God in store,
And what's that up his sleeve?
You have to wonder, is it so?
It's slippery at best.
To question what you cannot know,
Put reality to the test.
A lucid dream, or concrete fact?
How far does it go?
You have to guess, until you act,
You'll never really know.