The Dream... a poem by Veronica Farmer

A dream
That is all life is

We think we have time 
To get lost in stories
that this state of existence
We walk in
should be dramatic
wordy

We are 24 years old
And then
we blink 
And our hands are knarled
warm
scarred
used

I have found
That when I lay down
My carefully crafted stories 
Stories of my book of life thus far
And
let them fly from me
be bare
Vulnerable

As the angry cords release and pull away
That have lasooed old thoughts to old moments
In some dusty pathway of the mind
Cobwebbed, resentful and narrow

The mind is washed clean
Made new 
Free to be present
To breathe
To play
To smile

When there is no thing left
other than the moment
the day in front of you
You are free
to see
That connection is a passing dream
However beautiful

To see the truth
That there is only ever presence
With where you are
That moment in time
That will never return
That will never be again

Eye contact
Warm touch
So much more exquisite to celebrate
Than things to fix, run to, complete
Things to fight for or take
or people to own

Now 
is all there is
And being with That
Really is
Life 
Really is
Living

All Rights Reserved Veronica Farmer
To see more of Veronica Farmer's writing and blogs see www.veronicafarmer.org