On Dreams...

I do not always remember my dreams. Or my past, for that matter. Sometimes, I awake from troubled dreams, and I do remember. This has been the case, of late. Some weeks ago, I dreamed of my homeland, and my father. We were desperate to finish something, something that remained, in the logic of dreams, undefined. We were opposed in the dream by a dark figure, someone I do not actually know, but have heard stories of. Ultimately, my father and I failed in the dream, although I awoke before it felt finished. Perhaps we would have won the next round of the struggle. A battle does not make a war.

Last night, too, I dreamed. A. claims I spoke in my sleep, but in the dream I was screaming. I was the last honest man in that dream, defending the memory, and the corpse, of an even more honest man who had come before me, and shown me the way. In this, I was opposed on all sides. It was a strange dream. But in it, too, I feel like I had failed.

Failure 

by A.E. Stallings

You humble in. It's just as you remember:

The sallow walls, formica counter top,

The circular argument of time beneath

Fluorescent flickering - —doubt, faith, and doubt.

She knows you've been to see the gilded girl

Who's always promising and walking out

With someone else. She knew that you'd return,

With nothing in your pockets but your fists.

Why do you resist? When will you learn

That this is what your weary dreams are of—

Succumbing to Her unconditional love?

I do not know why I dream so often these days of failure. Are my weary dreams about something else? Are my weary dreams about her unconditional love? Or could it be, Gentle Reader, simply that I am for the moment trapped in the circular argument of time? Doubt, faith and doubt.  I'm pretty sure that Time has other arguments, though.