Lucid Dreams!

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Life and Choices

                      Lucid Dreams!

To Lucid Dream......To Escape from here.

To Dream of those times, we had fun with "No Fear".

Mis-Spent youth we led for a time;

Never "Thinking" just "Acting".   Never wondering "Why".

Dreams of those times, we were kids once again.

Of those "Precious Moments"; we spent with friends.

DREAMS of our "Loved Ones"....we wish we could see.

Of the Child we Lost, for the choices we made.

Dreams of a Future that once seemed so Bright!

Now are Shattered and Broken; in this cell here at Night!

To Lucid Dream, where our "Spirit  takes flight.

While our body lies resting, we escape here at night.

And in these Dreams our souls are "Free".

To soar with the Angels; our burdens we leave.

Dreams of our Freedom...this Debt being Paid.

Of a Marvelous "New Life"...The New One we make.

In Dreams there is life, of what we can be.

That the Creator pre-destined, but we never perceived.

In Dreams as in Life, we never conceived.

All the valuable and endless possibilities.

So Dream of the Future; and Let Go of the Past.

And within these walls....This to Shall Pass.

For Dreams are our only Escape from here.

But given time, we'll be Free once again!

Written and Composed By: Denise Hall

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this December 2013. To all people who have ever been confined DEDICATED TO:  

Here's to the people who Endured with me, they know who they are, kindred spirits we be!

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AziVsH's picture

Fun Fact

In Job, God says he comes to us in our sleep and wispers in our ears to guide us through our waking hours. I always pray before sleep that he'll cast evil out and away from me, fill me and surround me with the holy spirit, and let my soul commune with him while  I sleep. 

PrincessDenise32's picture

I love how you tell me how

I love how you tell me how things make you feel.  You love and accept the Holy Spirit as an active presence in your life, as do I.  That gives me that feeling of kinship towards the Love we have for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.   I give God the Glory for bringing me through some of the most difficult periods of my life.  But his Loving Spirit was always present with me.  I had time to reflect on what was important to me.  I experienced what people feel like to know they will never get out of prison.  I met the Stiletto Killer who murdered that doctor in San Antonio, TX.    I've wrote about it and will add as prose when I get the opportunity.  Thanks for your postive comments towards my work.

allets's picture

Poets

Jailed All Day

.

Can you create a new reality

based on the imagination, that tends

to corrupt the here and now? Your

life as the unbearable here. The incorrigible

now. Shelterlessly, forging walls to hold

out the hard stones of the only view.

Pounding with open palms the link fence

so thick the hands hurt.

.

Insight is born in antithetical freedom

celebrating stone and wire, locks

and more locks. Even those walking

outside the gates live in prisons, their

worst crime being born into it. The great

neglect of it. You find it unimaginably

hard to remember the chains dragging down

the boring ankles of day by day. The same

day. Endlessly.

One quarter of the world's prisoners

are inside high tech brick walls in

The United States of America. Ironically,

the prisoners believe in their country

and will defend those who have declared

themselves worthy jailors. The American

female inside  will hurt you for saying unkind

things about the land of her mother, where

she was born and became a murderer,

or dealer in all kinds of talented arts.

This is your land, the environment that

enformed your felony.

.

The male perspective is unusually clearer.

Apart from unfairness as an expectation,

being a man in a world of ugly strangers who

define nothing to value, life has been fine.

The hell of getting processed after the fall

from free thinking and walking, is never

reduction to less than human. Always there

is a light, small and inextinguishable. The

man is deep inside. Depth is where his emotions

dwell. Well deep. Volcano deep.

.

We are all innocent. The world does not

see the rationale for the deeds of desperation

done mostly from a mind unable to discover

any dream or dash of consideration.

To read is escaping, but learning what

there was never time to explore. Exploring

the great works of art, not understanding

at first sight, but in time. In time.

.

Memorizing the greatest quotes, to fill voids

and make a new world. To be on Juliet’s

balcony, to climb it with Romeo. To learn

a new language during the time. So much time.

Redemption impossible, wallowing is only

the start, the finish may be enlightenment.

May become wisdom.

.

The reality is cold as dry ice, burning. Always

searing the skin from the fingers of the mindset.

To be closed in, unable to move by your will

alone is the challenge. Terrible challenge. Go out

of the body, removed from restraints, soar

like eagles, wing air and inhale blue skies

remembered from years ago.

.

Homo Sapien, look elsewhere for dreamscapes.

Memorize a book. Any book. Be the eyes

of your favorite author. Write down endlessly

impressions of what you sacrificed, what you

lost being you. Proudness does what it does.

Self-Image rewritten is absurd when self

view is always better. Perfect. Never having been

scholarly, the street educated eventually turn

inside and live there. Living out here is hard

for those caged and those uncaged. Prison

is a state of existing unless defiance births

a different way of seeing.

.

For the incarcerated, I offer a new way

of seeing. The mind indeed has an eye full

that is nurtured by memory and alright

thinking. If you form the portrait of anything

beautiful, anyone, pushing off pain for a time,

denying anguish chewing the heart like

a hungry and huge cat, a human will emerge

and find a mirror without scratches

or stains. Somebody elses stains.

.

The heart cools, the gentle self slowly erodes,

like topsoil, rich with smiles and the ability

to tell a joke to entertain. The tongue twists

forming words like hope, the mind bends

on concepts of what could have been. Somewhere

in the brain, a spark like a lighter in the dark

night of loneliness, flickers. There once was

a thought of what the world should become. Had

become. The goal to leave a mark. Any mark.

God and prayers help a little, the time of miracles

and prisoners universally freed just about sums

up the myth of getting home.

.

Star

03-15-15

1003a

.

 

 



Onyamaichi