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Sunday Mourning
On Sunday morning there’s nothing to do
so I stayed in bed and thought about you.
Not quite awake, I concocted a scene
that couldn’t occur outside of a dream.
And then, unconcerned with how it was so,
my rational mind withdrew and let go -
and as it let go, it quickly forgot
the dream that it dreamed derived from a thought.
And thought unrestricted by rationale
can conceive of things that life won’t allow.
And oh what a lovely world it created
- one without fear, repression or hatred.
But fatuous fantasies quickly fade
in the darkly divisive light of day.
Thus drawn from my dream I was so confused -
which world was I in, and what about you?
Yet as common conscious thought intervened
it dawned on me that we “think” more than dreams
- that all of the times I’d wished you were dead
conspired to create this mourning in bed.
