Reflecting on the idea of what we sometimes do with our dreams, hopes and vision for our lives, inspired by Brendan’s missionary voyages, I’ve put into poetic form an idea of how we sometimes treat our dreams. What hope is there of unleashing them? The poem is called ‘Dreams’
I laid you to rest, my dear ones.
Wrapped in the pages of yesterday’s hopes,
I watched you lying there before walking slowly away.
Thoughts of what might have been
fluttering across the mind like images
from the inspiring film adaptation
of my life.
These days I have mourned you
as I live the next best reality,
haunted by the tolling bells of conformity,
holding on to the dignity of a respectable life.
Yet, your spectre looms, haunting at first,
but then taking form as an inkling of opportunity again
as my mourning sloths on.
Yet, you are not dead, it is simply I who
have turned my back for comfort’s sake.
Lack of daring, lack of hope, red minus voices
telling my head to beat my heart.
Dare I resist the enemy, fear, and
find the vivid source of my being
awakening as I unwrap my dreams
and set them free?