Dreams float listlessly,
Passion relentless
Pursuit
Leads them to linger over the preposterous
Syndrome that is
Our love.
I wish I could let go of past
Incidents and accidents,
Things of no importance except
When it comes back in the form of a nightmare rather,
Desperate, lonely, and categorically unredeemable,
Seeping within one’s soul,
With no other hope but to have
To assimilate
The outcome.
When you can foresee the future,
All the dreams seem so obscurely present in your life.
When you get to the stage,
When you prey God the night before
That He should not let you dream of things
You don’t want to know about,
Then you are doomed,
In the hands of the fateful outcome of your dreams,
No shelter.
No security.
Just the fearful certainty that
Somewhere along the line of your future,
A dream like the ones you dread will surface your spirit
And haunt you through the dawn,
Like a terrible wave following indomitable ocean
Till it dies ashore.