Ribbon Dreams

My dreams are made of ribbons and they ripple prettily,
But they are just as easy as my fragile skin to tear,
And each broken dream before it fades will whisper bitterly:
“You did not try to reach me as I tail-spun through the air.”

I watched them crash and burn, I danced around the flames.
Dreams are easy to kill, they wither as they languish.
Hear their final cries, hear them shriek the names
I never granted them. I listen to the anguish
That comes from a crash landing onto a hard ground
That they will never walk upon with agile, sturdy limbs
Because I did not let them be real and safe and sound
But ripped the ribbons of my dreams along their screaming seams.

Maybe I’m lazy and lethargic, destined never to achieve,
My desires are pretty fabric with no substance or weight,
And I’m frightened if I let them loose that they will supersede
The mind that thought them up. I’ll tell you what I hate:

I hate having to dream at all, when wishes are so flimsy,
A piece of clothing fluttering on a sagging line,
They take your solid thoughts and conjure up some whimsy
Out of images and words that hang inside your mind,
I could make a dream myself, and so much better
Than the ones I’m forced to take part in each night –
A solid dream like a weighted-down letter
That won’t be like a ribbon, won’t take flight.

But my eyes close and my brain shuts down too
And I relinquish all my weak control
Over what I dream and my mind permits you
To walk in, strong and tall, and to take hold.