As most readers of this blog surely know by now, back in 2014 I published a collection of my poetry, both in paperback and on Kindle. Some of you may also be aware that I’m currently working on a second collection. I have one item of news about this project, and there is one part of it with which I would like the help of some of my readers. Continue reading
Dreams carry me away (too late) each night,
Then hold me in my bed each shining morn.
Now, once, as I recall, I did not dream—
Or if I did, dreams faded ere I woke.
Oh, how I longed for visions and for dreams—
And then my prayer was granted, and I dreamed,
And when I could recall them, wrote them down,
In hope or fear of some significance.
But now such nightly dreams are commonplace,
And—even nightmares—hold me in my bed
Far longer than I there ought to remain.
God give me strength! to rise and stand each day,
And, rather than, blinking, remain abed
To seek a too-real, quickly fading dream,
Instead, to set myself upon the work
I see before me—more and more each day.
I wrote this a few months ago, after coming to a realization of the phenomenon the poem describes.
I always welcome your comments, critique, suggestions (perhaps of a proper title for this poem?), or any other feedback on this poem or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you like it, if you don’t like it, if something “works”, if something “doesn’t work”, if it makes you think of something or someone, etc., please comment and say so!) If you like this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems every Friday; you can also read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (or if that list is too intimidating, I’m posting more manageable subsets each week, such as yesterday’s installment, so you can just start with those). I’d particularly like to know which poems you think are my best.
This poem is also mirrored on my wiki.
Each Friday I post a poem.
What good is it to dream a weighty dream
And wake up deeply moved by what I saw,
If at the touch of sunlight the dream flees
And memory fades before the opening day?
How short the night; how fleeting are its dreams!
But praise and thanks to God, for though our lives
To him are briefer than a moment’s breath,
And in that span we do not honor him
Above all else, as he justly deserves,
Our Maker yet remembers our short lives—
Far better than we mortals do ourselves—
And makes all we forget show forth his praise.
I wrote this poem yesterday morning, after waking up from a very moving dream and finding myself forgetting more of it as I tried to remember enough to write down—not for the first time.
As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. You can also read other poems I’ve written here on my blog.
This poem is also posted on my wiki.