At times I dream of a certain image
One that feels like I’ve been there before,
Despite being nothing more than a fabrication, a dream.

I dream of a late Saturday night, echoes of rain surrounding me
The soft glow of a CRT the only light in the room
And me, sitting, staring, watching the beam dance about.

I dream of traveling to a land far from my own
A place void from worry and doubt
A place where I can simply be.

I dream of visiting the train station
Being serenaded by a traveling musician, a lone dog with a guitar.
As he sings his song, I sing along
Knowing every word to the tune.