The Dream

The Dream was all I meant silently screaming teeming downwards I relent and become spent and all I wanted was a back to rub and arms enfolding laughter, smiles a heart for holding piles of day dreams stacked untidily The Dream was all that started and I hope all that will come else drums of war will march no soap would cleanse the stain of their disdain I parch for thirst of you but Dreaming is the best that I can do for now The Dream is all I'm seeing and no one will be agreeing kill that dream: you can't take Cinderella to her shining ball it never happens that way never happens not at all The Dream is unrelenting any touch of it that's hinting spills over from my heart too full to keep the dam wall fit from breaking and the aching in my chest which is the feeling I know best is what I've sown and reaped and am now taking But the Dream is where we're free and we can love there, you and me it doesn't matter what lies in reality it's just a word that keeps us grounded in the suppositions of the huddled masses they do not know the beauty that I see and nor shall thee, my love it may be all one-sided it may make my heart divided but the Dream provided passes ecstasy. The Dream has been my bane unweathered faces without pain will always bring me back to bear it and my mood well suits the rain And ah! but seldom can I share it and in those seldom times, must dare it  and each time that I would wear it  I refrain. Mark Burton Thursday, October 27th, 2005, 2:43 A.M.