Which dreams are caught,
An ancient craft taught
So long ago in distant time
Now, silent as today’s mime?
Are caught dreams prisoners,
With untold stories, no futures,
Yearning to escape to the great beyond,
Dancing like fireflies on a moonlit pond?
Which ones escape, which ones are kept,
What if already dreamt,
Or slips away through a crack,
What if it’s darker than black?
What Entity, what Being
Has the power deciding
With revered and fabled ability,
Decisions made hastily or sensibly?
A dream’s Fate or Future
Snares in the dream catcher,
Snags like an insect in a spider’s web,
Or gently floats out to sea with tide’s ebb.
Lynn Martin McHale April 25, 2013 Copyright All Rights Reserved
LYNN ... LIVING with Parkinson's through Poetry and Art 