To capture a dream,

The nightmares seem simpler.

Mostly because we wake up

Still feeling them:

The terror of our classrooms

Turning into sewers

Filled with bees.

The look on Father’s face

As he turns to stone,

Collapsing to dust.

We sweat our tears out.

But the good ones.

They seem to evaporate,

Leaving almost no trace

but perhaps a smile.

Why does terror

Last

Over joy?

When we try to record them,

Our pens lose steam

As our visions dissipate

From the mind’s eye.

The smile is left,

But frustration takes over.

Why must I dream

Of joy and fear,

But only keep

My fear?