In the cold dark morning of my day my soul cries for new days, new songs, new delights.
I wonder where the dreamers are dreaming this morning.
My heart weeps in disdain for a time and place lost. It lives in my sleep; it dies in my schedule. Such a place feels real but the left side of my cranium conquers the right with alarms beckoning.
This new day is not dedicated to dream, but to task.
Yet in moments of stolen shadows, my mind reveals a new day. A new alarm buzzes between my ears calling me to create, basking in the presence of a bee hive of something so fantastic words cannot capture.
I wonder where actors practice their craft.
I wonder where champions train.
I wonder where the beat of the poets rhyme comes from.
It is at that founts source I want to drink.
It is at that 7-11 my coffee cup wants refilled.
I wonder if there is still a place in peoples hearts to imagine new days? New life? New aspirations of inspirations beyond awe.
Or am I alone in my tears of anticipation?
I long to cry at creative expressions so wondrous, like dolphins dancing to their own song before your eyes on a lonely walk of solitude.
I long for moments where awe seems a ridiculous expression in light of my eyes observation and ears hearing.
Are those moments now lost?
I see days lost milling with friends pondering in circles of delightful giggles as words create paradigms faster than people with pens can write books about them or lawyers can lay claim to who’s words are whose.
In anxious tension I envision manifestos so delightful that poets scribe them in a loss for expression.
People sleep in their seats collected in rounds, as if at the circus, because they fear they will miss the next moment.
Where do I find such a place. Where is moment so thick with creation that hunger pains and mortgages are checked against the register of the moment and forgotten?
Where is the place where pedigree is placed behind the streaming flowing waterfall of ingenuity, it’s bars of acceptance overpowered by respect for the moment.
Where is the place patent laws and egos vanish for the sake of the moment?
Where is the place that time is irrelevant in the measurement of my day?
That’s my Zion. That’s my Jerusalem. That’s my city of dreams.
That’s my alarm.
Am I awake now? Or am I dreaming when I call it wake and alive when I am dreaming.
Where is this place?
Take me there.
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