Midnight Garden
Perhaps dreams wander about,choosing when to appear:
in sleep most deep,
or in the shallow moments
right before waking up.
When the eyes are closed
but the brain is opening,
it is there
they will be remembered.
Where do they come from,
these dreams?
The absurd,
the profound,
the ones that wake you
gasping for breath -
a seed planted in a garden
of memories?
Whatever the soil,
they take root and grow
into tragedies, comedies,
in brief reunions with family,
then wither just before
we wake - the fruit of our mind
gone with the light.
They slip back out the gate,
wander away, and wait,
choosing the next perfect moment
to lure us into the garden
again.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
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Written on 2026-05-19 at 03:16
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