We cast our skins and slide/ Into another time.

Not the best since this poem is actually older. I have just been feeling this lately just as I felt it during original composition. I have such an obsession with dreams. dreammoods.com is bookmarked on my BlackBerry. If I am running down a hall and the walls are yellow, I enjoy knowing that I am avoiding a pressing situation while transitioning into a new phase of my life with happiness and wisdom. On the other hand, if those walls are gray, I'm pretty much screwed...
.
.
.
Dreams are memories from a former life.
Broadcast as a glimpse
in the mind’s eye,
amplified as a disguise.
I used to walk on water,
run ten miles
without panting
to catch what was lost.
This body sinks like a rock,
faints after one block.
I used to live in a world
of broad-shouldered men with large chests
of pretty little girls with a bulge in their pants.
And I was fearless to dream.
This body takes pills to kill dreams,
afraid they might come true.


Grace Note: The title is taken from the poem The Sleepers by Sylvia Plath.