What’s in a Dream

Ofttimes dreams are shadows of our lives
We try to make sense of what happened through them
Even though as hard as we strive
We still have trouble seeing through them

We look at them backwards and sometimes sideways
We turn them around to see what can be found
Only to see they’re made out of clay
Perfectly molded and very profound

Some dreams are a way to clean out a wound
So deep inside us we know nothing of it
We prod and we pry while safely cocooned
In a warm bed with blankets upon it

When we awaken, the dreams that we had
Slip through our fingers as though they were water
And as quiet as the softest foot-pad
Tiptoe away to scheme and plot more