Cynical Dreaming

 

This collective dreaming,

about a Country,

an idealistic eutopia of

Voltaire’s imagination,

are platitudes to

conceal the illusion

of choice.

 

Dreams,

are not real;

only reality is real,

or I used to think so,

anyway. Until things

became unreal.

 

I am not dreaming

about a country,

unified against tyranny,

or a country of underdogs,

yearning to breathe freely,

in one deep sigh.

 

I am dreaming of fires,

set by zealots, acolytes

of personality cults,

running through the streets,

exclaiming how they are

the truest of citizens and

they will have the blood of

those who are not.

 

I fear Kings, Dictators,

and Fanatics, whom I thought were

only puffs of nightmare dreams

in America, but now

I am afraid of the dreams

and get little sleep under the

blanket of freedom.

 

I dream differently.

Unsettled, tossing and

turning, in anxious,

Cold War sweats

of my youth.

Cynical of Dreaming.