to dream of mice dreaming
  to see things different
    than they are
to rearrange reality
  from this state of horror
    to something kinder
      more forgiving

a world absent of hate
   free of ego
    no need for language
      only soft silence
    and unspoken poetry
      harmony and music

no wanting of the wasteful
  no need of needless things
    all desires rooted
      to the heart of love

no more use for the illusion of time
  forever and eternity married
    in the palm of our hands
     day and night lost
      with the wildflowers dancing
        within our pulse

all our blood flowed together
  forming a river wide enough
    for the sun to rest in
      to float down

as we shed our humanity
   and become mice dreaming
     of ourselves
   kinder and more forgiving
     than we are

The night sky had a cup
  full of moonlight
and the shadows played
  in the fields
   and danced in the streets
the few sparce stars in the sky
  gently sang a lullaby
and the mad mad world below
  paused for a moment
    for only a moment
and though worn and weary
  I smiled
sleep would come
   soon enough
and trouble would have
  to wait for tomorrow
    to begin its brew again...

She came and went
  wandering from one dream
   into another
leaving behind small trinkets
  underneath his pillow

     the warmth of her smile
     the pulse of her kiss
     the ghost of her touch

and when he woke
  the autumn scent
    of her hair
      danced lightly
        in the air

he took a deep breath
  filling his lungs
   until his ribs
    nearly cracked
       apart

then exhaled
  and smiled

   a sad

    happy

      smile

and the details of the dream
  blurred and rearranged
    themselves
       and bit
         by bit
          faded into
            the memory
              of mist

she slipped down into his heart
  and made a small fire
   and kept everything warm

and waited
  waited for him

   to sleep

    to sleep

     and dream

       again

wrinkled velvet
  scratchy silk
a stain on the laundry list
   lazy verbs
     and mispronounced pronouns
language is a funny thing
  a vocabulary test
    on a lifelong joke
     with no punchline
strange how we can laugh
  at our own misery
or weep uncontrollably
  when we find our hearts
    overfilled with joy
it’s enough to make someone
  believe that maybe
   we don’t really know anything
     about all the things
       we pretend to know
personally I don’t pray
  to a this god
    or a that god
I have my faith invested
  in the wisdom
   of fairy tales
    instead of the studies
      of theology
but i do appreciate any conviction
  that leads someone
    to a life where they
      help compassionately
        give with generosity
          and love more kindly
what else do we have
  but this one brief moment
    this one long
     often agonizing
      brief pause of eternity
       to live this life in
why is so much worry
  about what comes next
    weighing down today
when none of us
  is guaranteed
   to see tomorrow
and what good is a future
  that ignores the rubble
    of the past
the absolute wreckage
  we have left behind
    in our human history
the truth of our mistakes
  has been whitewashed
   again and again
in every new volume
  of every new text book
rewriting villains as hero’s
  neglecting to write down
   their origins and crimes
there is a deliberate madness
  in this process
   an intentional poisoned thread
    placed in the binding
     of the pages
      the spine
       of the book
the truth is still there though
  bleeding through
   the page in braille
only being read by those
  who want to read it
those how refuse
  to let the truth
    of the past
      be replaced
       by a modern lie
but the masses consume
  faster than they learn
and we pride ourselves
   as intelligent
    crown ourselves
     as noble
arrogantly pointing out our ability
  of pattern recognition
while constantly failing
  at not repeating
   the pattern throughout
    our history
      that causes so much
        human misery
and I wish I could laugh
  but my heart doesn’t
   have the vocabulary
    to write a punchline
     in a language it just
      can’t find funny anymore

how childishly we make
  mockery of time
how foolishly we fear
   its passing
the common cliché
  of turning twenty nine
    over and over
until we find ourselves
  making the same joke
   at thirty nine
     and forty nine
       and...
as if ever new decade
  every new day
     isn’t a privilege
        a blessing
something we are
  not guaranteed
    not owed
     not all given
there is nothing to fear
in accepting our mortality
in learning that death
will greet us warmly
in knowing that it is
  the same with
    our last breath
      as it is with
        our first breath
each one a gift
   that can only be given
     by the passing of time
why should we
  fear the unknown
    the unknowable
to such a degree
that we allow it
   to take away
     to distract us
from the gift of this moment
  the every present
    passing of time
it will all pass and be gone
   in less than
    the blink of an eye
an eternity come and gone
  in the breeze
no matter how long
or short our lives will be
   in the end
     it will always be
      too short
        end
          too soon
let us enjoy each breath
that time allows us
gives us
as children do
gratefully unaware
of how childishly
we will grow

he had fallen asleep reading
and the book laid with the pages
pressed to his chest
he could still hear her voice
narrating the story
even as he snored now in his sleep
even though she was only imaginary
a small comfort of fiction
to keep his heart warm
through the winter of his bones

she rearranged the letters
as she slipped off the page
and slide out from under the book
and laid beside him for a moment
watching him breath
watching his chest rise and fall
watching his heart
  thump against his ribs
she sighed a small sigh
as she carefully lifted
the book from his chest
and closed it
she kissed the tips of her fingers
and then as soft as breeze
touched them to his forehead
she wanted to stay
to fall asleep next to him
to wake up in the same dream
but she knew if she slept
he would turn to smoke
and disappear into the bathroom mirror
she reluctantly stood
and took quite footsteps
towards the bookshelf
placed the book back in its spot
and ran her fingers along its spine
the book purred
and she smiled a sad smile
and spoke without speaking
and said “until next time my friend...”

she snuck out the window
and climbed up
and through the clouds
she sauntered and wandered
around the moon
and waited patiently
as her eyes hopped
from star to star
until she caught the glimpse
of a comet
and hitched a ride on its tail
setting a course
through an unknown time
of an untold adventure

she fell asleep in
the vast emptiness of space
and dreamt of dreaming
and somewhere in the dream
she heard his voice
telling a lie
a harmless mess
of obvious mischief

and they both smiled
a smile bigger
than any smile
could be imagined

there was the bittersweet smell
of mischief in the corner
of her smile
and in her eyes
he could see everything
that was good about love
and their was a delicate balance
of beauty and pain
woven into the warmth
of her heart

he sighed

knowing he could only imagine
doing anything other
than just imagine