Poem- “Dreaming Amnesia”

“Dreaming Amnesia”

It’s sort of common for me to forget a dream.

Sometimes I call this “dreaming amnesia”.

No, I’m not saying I dream of having amnesia.

I’m saying I dream of something and forget it right away sometimes.

Just tonight, I’ve had a dream.

It was a beautifully emotional dream.

I dreamed that I was being dragged somewhere- that’s all I remember.

Maybe there’s a few strands of color floating in movements of my brain.

Still, I’ve totally forgotten the dream.

I remember that I’ve just had the dream and all I see is a few colors.

Windows float in my head; and, there’s a window of reality and a fictional window.

The colors are streaming in odd angles.

Some are unknown colors.

Each string crawls like a snake and constantly changes color.

Does the unknown reach into my awareness levels?

This level of awareness must be very poor.

Not everybody can insult themselves when giving the truth.

People see what they want to see- so do I, but I also see what I don’t want to see.

Strings of flying, unknown colors are now swimming in my mind’s void.

There’s no dream there any longer.

My schizophrenia appears to give me knee-jerk reactions in the head.

Movements in my head aren’t always the comfortable kind.

Drinking caffeine may or may not help and a weekly aspirin is necessary.

This hasn’t been the only dream I’ve forgotten: many, many dreams are lost in sight.

When having a dream like this, the dream is very exact and outrageous.

Then, just after I wake up, there’s just a leftover explosion of color.

No sounds are heard in this dreaming amnesia other than my usual bed routine.

A dream from a long time ago can still be remembered.

However, this very recent dream has been forgotten.

My poem should be the best and worst interpretation of this dream.

My text is light; however, you’re probably seeing imagery I’ve never seen.

Internal and external communications have this problem with imagery.

There’s no way to prove you see what I see- at times, language is all we have.

Politics begins and ends with memories.

So does education, work, life, etc.

One memory can be totally dark as its sensation burns within light.

I’m a sick man- I’m totally, completely diseased.

These smarts mask my original disposition until imagery isn’t apparent.

Yes, you can go to the doctor when you’re sick.

But what do you do when the doctor is sick?

After all, humans are diseased creatures, so even teachers are sick.

The sickness can make our dreams bizarre, wild, and fantastic.

My tastes are off.

So, I must lay down the line for pulling it back in.

https://www.deviantart.com/gameuniverso/art/Dreaming-Amnesia-812895471