It is To Dream

Day’s echoes fade,
But still I lie, unable
To drift away.

When finally I awaken near dawn,
With images fresh
From another world,
I resent it;

Why does it pull me so?
Is that other world better than this?

This strange World of Day, so little changing,
Hard as rock in it’s demands
and expectations.

Again I’m asked,
To wash clothes,
Pay bills,
Make money,

And follow rules,
Not of my own making.

Or are they?

In night-time’s world I sometimes know,
That it is I who builds it:
The curtain parts.

Day-time’s world has thicker curtains,
Yet –
At times it is given me to see:

I ask to serve, and
There you are,
Needful of a lift.

And a few loose phrases,
That I heard this morning,
Bouncing in my head:
Now come unbidden
From my own mouth.

Witness I am,
Or so I’d thought.
As first I struggled to know;

But now I wonder if,
The Reason I am drawn
To this World of Day,
Is any different from the Night’s:

-- It is To Dream
That I Am Compelled.


--------------------------

Alan Montgomery
September, 2006