Blank Dreams

To terminate words is that all must dream,
the many by nighttime.
Nights that are turning points
ushering us into dreams

The history of ourselves tells us of
an image of the immediate
future meant to rip our hearts
as what we fear in them
comes upon us in eventuality.
The history that has told
many of dreams blank as a board

In the dreams at night
is the provision of a commodity
to ourselves, a dream bag to our minds
A purpose to our souls
A footpath to our legs imprint
Our legs for journeys of destiny
Destiny on a road to fate's manifest.

The last dreams we had
were mighty ones, but waking up to
the break of fulfillment, the dreams
became drowning thoughts that requested
to be headaches in place of meditation
The heights we dream
sometimes are our greatest deceit –
Dreams, the betrayals of our minds –
Sometimes the dreams we have
are actually not ours
they are for the others
sometimes the dreams for the others
are not theirs but a
mere metamorphosis of the future.

My dreams scare me,
I dodge dreams so my selfish
aspirations for greatness
becomes not the work of another.
I still fear more that my
son will one day request my
dreams, asking for the reasons
of unfulfillment. Will I look
back and recite these words
or will I look forward
and start dreaming anew
for myself or yet a man unknown?