Another empty page
waiting to be written.
Another un-acted scene on the stage,
waiting to be scripted.
Another peasant bitten
by the dream bug,
awaiting an opportunity to hug.
Though I know not what I shall be,
I’m completely familiar with the dream I see
ever before me. Should I force it to grow
dim in my eyes? Shall I kill it, and sigh
as I wait for a new vision to appear before me?