I used to awaken,
fragile heart pounding.
Shaken beyond measure,
tiny hands would check to ensure
I was truly breathing...
Then run to make sure he was, too.
As a small child,
I spent the dark hours
learning how to best escape
reoccurring nightmares
before they could end in death.
How to evade the malicious miscreant,
How to outsmart each butcher and ruse,
How to deny the satisfaction
of those familiar faces,
eagerly awaiting to applaud
my public execution.
As I grew, so did they.
Mind play, morbidity, weaponry,
aggressiveness of other players,
all evolving, all increasing,
challenging my capability to do the same.
It became common.
Expected.
Normal.
{On occasion,
I internally gloated.
Externally smiled.
Impressed by what I'd pulled off,
Or nearly failed to.}
After almost twenty years,
of mastering the dream state,
I began to heal conscious wounds.
Today I awaken from simple dreams,
yet subtle with comfort and content.
I'm horrified when I finally open my eyes
And remember this reality is actually mine.
Sinking, sickened, startled; yet I can
no longer affect
when I leave the subconscious realm.
A torture more striking
Than any blade.
I am soft to this backwards terror.
I'd bid welcome the nostalgic brutality,
undoubtedly, and with deepest relief,
Yet knowing its regression at root...
Or maybe the terms of progress
Need re-defining.
Dream lucidity, blending memory.
A single moment,
That's all it takes.
Flush and enamored
with the synchronicities of the mind.
{Innately energetic,
beyond conscious choice.}
... Inevitably to follow - the taking over
Of the entirety
Of our physical forms.
A smirk, a smile, call it what you may -
but
only visible
to the sets of eyes
locked on each other's.
No moment under appreciated.
No bit of beauty unnoticed,
No part unloved.
No words without depth,
No silence without yearning,
growth,
infinite gratitude...
Transcendent realms
leave no space
for anything but
opportunity and potential.