I Dreamed
by Michael H. Hanson © 2008
I dreamed I died last night
but not in some fantastic way
not pushed from a skyscraper's height
nor gunned down in a parking lot
nor in a fiery falling plane
or in a car on my cell phone
or on a desert battlefield
or choking on a chicken bone.
Within my dream I woke upon
the very bed I know so well
yet different in the strangest way
that I sat up in sluggish fright
and startled that I felt so weak
I croaked a strange and fearful cry
then stumbled through my bathroom door
to face two aged bloodshot eyes.
And in the mirror of my dreams
my dead Father stared back at me
but unlike horrid memory
he looked now gaunt and world weary
until I saw his eyes were blue
when past were always hazel green
and so I came to see this truth
that I was frail and elderly.
I panicked through my rooms, amazed
to see the change of many years
dark peeling paint upon the walls
and flaking rugs on splintered floors
dull paintings crowding every space
old photos framed on dusty shelves
and yet no sign I shared this home
with any but my very self.
Exhaustion struck me deep within
and staggering I found my bed
whose ancient springs protested me
reclining with a shallow breath
I felt my will escaping me
and closing burning tear filled eyes
accepted my own deepest fear
that old and all alone I'd die.
And then I woke yet once again
not elderly but middle-aged
and ran to look upon my face
to see blonde hair instead of white
gaunt cheeks replaced with healthy fat
and all my teeth where they should be
and eyes still filled with dull delight
a quarter century reprieve.
Now one day later here I cower
upon the portal of that dream
and shamelessly I pray and plead
and ask the darkness what it brings.
Will I awake that aged man
so filled with dread and loneliness
or granted magic amnesty
awake both loved and bounteous ?