My dreams sail above my head,

Like magic carpets floating through time.

I lie under the labyrinth of constellations,

With the sweet night air on my tongue.

I try to seize a dream by its tail,

But it is like trying to snatch quicksilver. 

Every time, it slips through my fingers,

Leaving me with a fallen face,

And empty dreams. 

When I get home each night,

I glance in the mirror.

I rake my hands through my hair,

Feeling bits of entangled stardust.

As the glimmering bits seep into the drain,

Those far-fetched hopes leak through me. 

Sometimes I leave my window open,

In case I look outside,

And see a dream has caught its tail,

Or has collided with the window,

Like a dove strikes glass.

I can nurse the dream back to health,

And perhaps keep it for myself…

This went on for years.

The clocks never ceased spinning.

The dread never stopped spreading.

I looked up the word faith in the dictionary,

For I had forgotten its meaning.

One night I gazed out the window so long,

I had finally turned to stone.

I vowed never to dream again,

And never to doubt the haters,

Or unbelievers,

Because they were all right.

Life’s a sadistic game,

And I had lost too much to it. 

So I fell asleep that night,

My mouth quirked up at the corner,

Only to be awoken by a thump on my pane.

I stood slowly from my bed,

And approached the window.

I looked down through the glass,

Only to see a snow white dove lying there.