When the lonely feeling comes for me again,
I grasp in frantics at straw men
To snuff out the vibration in my chest—
The one that lies, insisting it knows best.
The one that taps out in morse code,
“Surrender now and you’ll be given what you’re owed—
But if you seek Nirvana or something made of that same stuff,
Nothing you have to give will ever be enough.”
Free me of doubt, free me of self-judgement.
Free me of all the things our souls find repugnant.
How can I stand alone—strong, brave and solitary?
Yet my spirit still wed to kinship as my sanctuary?
Tell me I am happy, tell me I belong,
Tell me someone will remember me after I am gone.
And even when that someone is gone too,
Still there must be something left, something left for you.
What does it even mean to leave a mark?
Must you take a hard stand? Or can you stumble upon it on a lark?
Is it all revolution, and renaissance? Design and invention?
Or is it something more subtle, something hardly ever of mention.
For every bold act, every roaring protest for what’s right,
There are boundless quiet ones, more hidden from sight.
For these we need our poet, our dreamer—we require our scribe,
To help us notice, help us remember theses moments, for our whole human tribe.
I put this rhyme here so you’d know it’s a poem: to you, from me,
But how many poems right outside your door did you fail to see?
The crack in in your leavened bread, the froth on your milk,
The rain on the glass, billowing, as if it were silk.
Not all poems arrive arranged in perfect lines.
Plenty you can’t see—but you’ll know are there if your heart aligns.
And many others still, although they may be built from words,
Will be less audacious, winking at you to shape them into songbirds.
And when your heart breaks, or when the day is long—
When there’s only rubble left, and you think you must simply move along,
The poet in your soul will cry out and raise her fist,
“This if your poem—for bitter or sweet—don’t try and resist.”
Or if you feel lost and you forget your truth,
Just sink into the dream place, it will give you your proof
That your answers are within you, every last one.
Just wait for the darkness, behind the sun.
For when the moon is full, or when she is new,
Remember—our bodies are water, and the tides will tell you—
That dreams are not fiction, they are merely a sharper looking glass
To examine the truth to come, and has already come to pass.
“In somnis veritas”—it means, “In dreams there is truth.”
When you travel within, you’ll meet your sayer of sooth.
But will you be ready? WIll you have eyes to see?
The answer is always “yes,” and only you grasp your key.
From this day forth, never forget your Dream Eyes,
To keep our hearts strong and brave, free of the poison of lies.
Sisters, brothers, this is our love poem. Will you be our troubadour?
So long as we have sleep to dream, there is truth to speak for.