I came across this poem in a book “The Irish Poets 1924-1974 edited by David Marcus and thought I would love to share it with you.
Dreams
In truth I cannot reach you,
I’m caged within my nerves
and there I pace tight circuits
Finding exit only
when my systems sleep.
Inside, I fumble with keys
and combinations which betray
no function from within.
I think that I must know my dreams
to see myself perform.
And if we could play them back
like tapes- we’d meet in limbo,
we’d integrate, know.
In apprehensive paradise
we’d fear we weren’t ourselves.
Leave a Reply