There’s a dream we all have that comes in the night,
when our legs are so heavy, though we know they are light,
and we can’t get away in the slow motion mode
and seconds are hours and we’re ‘bout to explode,
when we wake up and dare look around.
The room is all dark; everything’s in its place.
You’re sure you’re awake as you search out your face.
But something seems wrong; something’s wrong with the space;
too groggy, the body lays down.
When the sun, in the morning, sifts in through the blind,
and you don’t want to rise…. but then change your mind,
and she’s asking you why you sat up in the night
and, at that same moment, nothing’s coming to light
and you wonder just what’s on her mind.
You head to the bathroom… as you slowly awake;
The stomach is growling, but it isn’t an ache
You remember the meal… you had late last night
while finishing the game before starting to write;
the mind-dream now gone by design.
© 2012 t. j. gargano