Bury Me With My Dreams

bury me with my dreams,
old they may be, fatigued parchment
of a prayer book held too long,
held too tight,
what good will they be to you anyway,
incongruent with the living,
shroud them gently, each one,
this from the night we climbed to the clouds
on wires of lightheaded rain,
and that when the moon was complaining,
chiffon wave ears scattered on the sand;

I need their irresolvable yearning
in my hands when I leave,
their folly of attachment, of want,
their songs of erratic discord,
their roots are where our roots are,
deep in the earth,
in the echo of the ocean,
where every difference, every distance
folds into sublime equations,
why we fall out of love,
why we want to unwant by starlight,
why the improbable never pales its call;

it is the eccentric wind here, unhinged,
with its scent that stirs time,
shifting the balance, recalculating dreams,
bury me where the answers are,
with dreams that danced like mendicants in rapture,
that sighed like decadent harlots,
dreams that were spawned by awkward anticipation,
dreams searching for the lost variable,
dreams undreaming the end,
bury me where I can untangle them
hope by stubborn hope before they die.

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40 thoughts on “Bury Me With My Dreams

  1. This is gorgeously penned, especially love; “bury me where the answers are, with dreams that danced like mendicants in rapture.”

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  2. Oh to buried with my dreams but what if the choice is not ours? How can we make our life complete before we complete it? Sadly that is the crux for we can only mindless for that to be so. This sad poem is beautifully written…sweet dreams to you.

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  3. Beautiful:

    “and that when the moon was complaining,
    chiffon wave ears scattered on the sand;

    I need their irresolvable yearning
    in my hands when I leave,
    their folly of attachment, of want,
    their songs of erratic discord”

    “it is the eccentric wind here, unhinged,
    with its scent that stirs time”

    “bury me where the answers are”

    “bury me where I can untangle them
    hope by stubborn hope before they die.”

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  4. “why we want to unwant by starlight”

    This line intrigues me so much! Who needs to wish upon a star when the starlight invites us (if only we will listen!) to divest ourselves of desire, and just be.

    (At least, that’s my take-away!)

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  5. it is the eccentric wind here, unhinged,
    with its scent that stirs time,
    shifting the balance, recalculating dreams

    The wind once unleashed can result in sweet dreams depending on directions followed by the wayward dreams.Very much so Thot!

    Hank

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  6. Some have asked to be buried with their shields. For us, word-fighters and world-builders, it would make perfect sense to be buried with the dreams we’ve yet to write… and make true. I love how you said it.

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  7. Well, That covers it all succinctly. I think when an artist is buried in their dreams, I believe, they are still standing up ๐Ÿ™‚
    Another wonderful reading for me.

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