There is a dream.

It is fleeting,
It is dulled grey,
blurred around the edges,
fuzzy.
It is subtle,
It is subdued.
It is you.

It doesn’t have substance,
or body
or reality.
It doesn’t hurt,
but it brings pain.
It is need.
It is you.

It doesn’t last when the morning comes,
yet It lingers,
on my lips,
in my hands,
tearing at my soul,
always on my mind.
It is you.

It is patient,
It is angst.
It is the devil on my shoulder.
It is hope for tomorrow.
It is fear,
of wanting.
It is you.

There is a song,
a melody,
and It recalls.
It reminds,
It beckons to my mind,
remember.
It is you.

It is a touch,
It is an image,
It blooms like a storm,
I see it,
I feel it,
I reach toward it,
It is you.

There is a dream.

It is you.