From where we stand at the edge
we can see the ruins of the mountain
its scars slowly filling with dust
and a feeling that this was a place once holy
Here are the ash and plaster cast bodies
the blind prophet and the paranoid king
reaching out their hands into all time
Let the rains come crashing down
and carry us away from this dead mountain
that we can see is still crumbling
soon to be less than a memory
lost in the union of desert and sea
I can still clearly remember a handful of specific dreams from my early childhood, but regularly forget all of the ones I have these days.
What are your thoughts on dreams—are they random? Are they meaningful? Are they something else entirely?