Dreams Poem by Alan Buckholtz

I was thinking about dreaming
for which there is no plan
nor a clear map or mysterious pathway
we awaken and vague particles define
the morning's introduction to the day
advancing under its fresh light
fuel for future nocturnes
I’m fearful and confused in dreams
and their masks of my personal theater

Maybe dreams are a school
for lessons unlearned
distorted as a survival clue
frugal in messaging, often a fearful flow
often a grateful parting of ambiguous dark clouds
often strangling comforts using black paint in the dark
often painting smiles in a glancing slash of color

Just once to sleep a safe night
awakening to a vacant, clear morning
fresh for fresh flowers of a new day’s scape
fresh for creating new dreams of hope and learning
I want my own blistering, setting sun...
whispering in a good night of good dreams
for a good rest of my life