Dream Maker

Margaret V. Doran

Like vetch burrs
snarled in a dog’s feathery ears
which must be carefully freed
one at a time in order to
not pull the hair

So sleep gently attacks
each angry, knotted muscle
restoring it to a state
of grace
and smoothes away every worry line

Then, slumber calling gently,
I am borne like
cinders on the breeze
away from all
cares and responsibilities

I enter the netherlands
through illusive curtains;
heat waves from sun-baked sands or
wispy autumn fogs rising
from dew-soaked fields

I am outside myself looking in;
looking in the reflection
of a rippled pond;
I am mirrored as ever-moving
ever changing, ageless

Perception is altered and I
accept a new reality
of my own making
within the heathery moors
of my imagination

I am one
with earth
and sky
and water;
having no limits

And I build a dream-world
to suit my needs
as a child builds a tower of blocks
carefully chosing and stacking
to maintain balance

If it is love I need, love I create;
if glory, glory;
if understanding, understanding
meticulously sorting each illusion, each emotion
to maintain the equilibrium of my real self

I control the visions
as purposefully as a glass blower
manipulates and controls his rods
to produce
perfect, delicate images.

I create my dream as gently as a potter,
lovingly molding the clay of my abstraction
to make a thing of beauty
I can keep and enjoy

For it becomes the base,
the corner-block and
the stepping stone to my reality,
ordering who I am and defining
what I can do

In my illusive dream-world
I can do all things;
so that within your world
I have no limits but the
bounds of right and wrong ,/b>

Copyright © 1997 Margaret V. Doran. All rights reserved.

If you enjoyed this poem, please send her an e-mail here.

Updated July 1, 1999
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