A Visionary Matrix In Four Poems(3) Poem by Daniel Brick

The Cold and the Heat

Our dreams have become unmanageable,
day and night. We feel like puppets,
floundering on a bare stage,
with an incompetent puppetmaster
who admits he lacks the nimbleness
required for success. Once we shaped
Lucid Dreams in daylight and surrendered
to their illumination in nighttime. Now
all our dreams are commonplace affairs
we can neither shape nor predict,
so we must endure the worst of them.
Our once visionary prophets are spent.
They express their sorrows in exquisite
poetry. They chant their verse when the sky
is festooned with stars. The cold of space
and the stellar fires contend for mastery
of the sky and its infinite mysteries of
chance and fate. When we curl into sleep's
currents and our still active minds hasten
after night thoughts of glory or dismay,
we cannot tell which force - the Cold or
the Heat - will propel us to a higher state
of being. Our souls are vexed by the long
weight of time before our destiny is manifested.