Last Night's Dream Poem by Max Reif
Last Night's Dream
Again, in the middle
of the game
with no clue
how it's played,
even after
seeing it demonstrated.
Again the panic,
because everyone's
required to play,
and the anger,
because it doesn't
seem fair,
and once more
opting out
in the throes
of my emotional spasms,
and not knowing
if I really can't play
or am using the
turbulence of my feelings
as some kind of excuse.
Max, I've read this three times, and should do so more perhaps, and each time it has been like... yes... bang.... strikes a chord. I hope nobody will seek to answer the question of the end stanza... that one is all your own. I love this piece. I comment flippantly sometimes - this ain't one of those times. t x
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 5:37:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This one resonates strongly, Max. Your understated explanation of a familiar experience replete with the personal soul searching in the last question - brings back memories of opening nights and accompanying dreams of being in the wrong play, or in the wrong theatre, or in the wrong costume and at the back of the mind - 'the show must go on! ' Your poetry affects me deeply. love, Allie xxxx