When you first wake up after sleeping
If you will hold very still,
You will realize that you are holding in your mouth
An exquisite glass form of a dream
Which you have been blowing all night,
With every exhalation forced out
And it is like nobody else's
And has never before been seen;
For each of us is like a kaleidoscope
And we include different layers in our glass,
Taking it all from within ourselves;
The exact parts needed for the form we are making,
Taking the pieces from other dimensions;
Things which might seem untrue in this one,
But are real as we can make them
When our dreaming eyes and fingers
Lift them from our waiting wholeness,
In the night time of our stillness
When we finally become one patent vehicle,
And the dream begins to grow then, like the smallest bubble;
A stained glass fetus of our blooming individuality
Made only for, only by us;
As fragile as any snowflake,
As ephemeral as any memory.
I love how you wove the idea of blowing glass in comparison with dreaming. Well done & enjoyable to read. Thanks for sharing your talents. Spiritsong
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah yes, dreams, one of life's few true glories; purified by their own mysterious nature, divine by virtue of humanities inability to decipher their real origins. Superb writing Patti, as always! ! !