My dreams are better than your dreams:
More colourful, more real;
Your dreams would send a bear to sleep,
When mine would make it feel.
My dreams are lined with secret truths
That your dreams just reveal.
The things you've seen, the 'pastures green',
The ghosts, relations, friends,
That seem so bright in limitless night,
And feelings that they send;
Once turned to tales their colour pales
And all their glory ends.
I remember sitting silent,
The casual 'hmm' aside,
Listening to how you fled in fear
From a thorn in your side
And just before you tore apart
You woke up as you cried.
I remember last December,
A bench under a tree –
Something about your floating out,
Forever out to sea –
You talked of issues, clutched the tissues
For that cold you gave to me.
I recall one hundred evenings
Spent staring at the ground,
Tired, bored, and always lonely,
Wishing the world were drowned,
While you mumbled on for hours
About the things you'd found.
My dreams are mine: the only time
I'm at mercy of my mind.
I can't explain the pleasure or pain,
The passions left behind
When I wake up and I take up
Your monologuing's grind.