Dreamworld
My dreams are irregular and I cannot control them.
Every night I enter them in order to patrol them.
Sometimes I feel marooned there, like a miner with no pick,
a writer with no pencil, a conductor with no stick.
Vanity is left behind. No room for it in dreams.
Life’s garment that we’ve sewn with care is ripped out at its seams.
It does no good to gripe or moan that you have lost control,
for dreams move us outside ourselves as though that is their goal.
On the outside looking in, our life becomes a role
in which we play ourself in our quest to find our soul.
Prompts today are dreams, irregular, maroon, gripe, miner and vanity.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Loved both the poem and the photos. Thanks~!
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Amazing poem, Judy!!!!
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Thanks, Martha
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An amazing basis for dream analysis! I wish I could remember even a few of my dreams!
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That fell together very nicely. I like the photos you include with your poem.
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Thanks, Lisa.
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You’re welcome.
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Quite profound, Judy.
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