Don’t hang me out to dry

(The image of the two teen girls hanging from those mango trees in India is so disturbing, it reminded me of the lynching days in America. So, I wrote a poem. It dreams of gentleness in our masochistic, aggressive world. Sweet dreams.)

 

Last Night, I had a dream

In it, a part of me died

A part of me from yesterday

Yesterday. A point in time

We can never go back to

I didn’t care that you died

Was that terrible of me?

Wide awake now, I say

But it was only a dream.

How can my guilt be real?

 

Last night, I had a dream

I made up with a ghost of my past

This ghost tormented me so long

Never pacified, never satisfied

Always seeking, always wanting more

In my dream, we are at a bar

There are lots of people, we appear happy

Yesterday. A point in time

We can never go back to

Wide awake now, I say

But it was only a dream.

How can those drinks be real?

 

Last night, I had a dream

I saw a truly kind and gentle person 

Who let me dream my dreams without invasion

Even let me day dream without intrusion

Patient, let me slip away from its grasp

To keep company or to be alone

This gentle person is always by my side 

Doesn’t hang me out to dry  

Wide awake now, I say

But it was only a dream

How can that gentleness be real?

 

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