What is in sleep? What is in dreams?
What is inside, looking for schemes,
Wanting possibilities, wanting things just so—
Vowed I would find out, vowed that I would know.
Took my personality and hung it over a chair,
It lay there, silent, passive, like it really didn’t care.
Hoped to have a dream I hadn’t dreamed before:
In them, I’d be the hero—have the answer, know the score.
But my psyche descended into a dark and threatening place:
Searched there for an answer, found mostly empty space.
Somewhere a light is shining in the black,
pointing out prosperity, instead of mostly lack.
Fulfilling my heroic dream, I searched high, searched low,
Stumbled on unseen objects, pursued that lonely glow.
Looked everywhere but behind, and certainly not within,
‘fraid that what I would find there would be like “original sin.”
On waking I looked around. Personality was still there.
It slipped on so easily, like it really didn’t care.
Welcome, it seemed to say. You thought you were gone for good,
But I knew that you’d come back, Because, you know, you should.
***
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