The metal man asked,
"What is a dream?"
And I told him,
"A story you can't quite remember,
That shies away when you try to find it,
Melts away,
Ripples becoming smooth until all that remains is the mirror lake,
And the memory of a loss you cannot pinpoint."
"But what is a dream",
He asked me once more,
And I did implore him to listen when I said,
"The products of a mind trapped in a body,
That sleeps and slumbers and offers no chance of thought,
The heart keeps beating and the lungs breathing,
So too the brain keeps turning and thinking,
With less to hone in on,
Eyes closed, unseeing,
Limbs still, unmoving,
The mind will create a world of its making,
And forget it completely on the moment of waking."
"What is a dream?"
Asked as though,
But then I falter,
"What is a dream",
Where did that question come from,
A man, I think maybe a man,
But I can't quite remember,
And the puddles are smooth,
And the lake like a mirror.
