Dreaming of A Nightmare Killer

“A person is the product of their dreams. So make sure to dream great dreams. And then try to live your dream”, says Maya Angelou, in Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now.

Lord rest her soul, but I sure hope she wasn’t 100% right on that one.  Am I a product of the bad dreams too? And, how exactly does one make sure that they “dream great dreams”? Are the dreams that Maya Angelou speak of the same ones that occasion us at night, or are they the ones we envision during our waking hours, the more figurative ones we author in hopes of achieving?

Apparently, there’s much ado about dreams. Popular artists and everyday people alike, often revere dreams as treasured possessions, worthy of aspiration.  Some believe that dreams are the stuff that keeps life afloat– for them, dreams carry a much broader meaning than one can comprehend from one morning’s reflection after a night of rest or unrest. For others, there is a necessity in dreaming, as much of the information revealed in our dreams might not otherwise make its way to us amid the hurriedness of our awake hours.

Some even consider themselves gifted with the power of dream interpretation. They listen with rapt attention as you jabber away, sharing as much detail as you recall, while they try to find signs and make sense of what you share. Though they know nothing about the stuff you’ve shyly omitted, they proceed to spin a tale of what your dream is most likely about, what possible foreboding it holds.

These dream interpreters aren’t often made aware of the dreadful fear that led you to divulge what little you shared in the first place. They aren’t familiar with the overwhelming concern that now engulfs you, the small corners of darkness that threatened to swallow you whole, or worse yet, the crippling dis-ease that has now taken root in your belly, yet you hang on to this “clairvoyant’s” every word, hoping to hear something that ‘sounds about right’, something that will ward off the small seeds of self-doubt that are dangerously close to finding fertile ground.

I know about dreams like that.  During awake hours, I claim discernment, yet in these dreams, life isn’t so clear. Instead, the potentiality of these dreams bleed into my terrestrial plains, beg my allegiance, and attempt to weaken my resolve and God-given clarity. Oh, they do that to you too?

So…
Why don’t you let me be
Your dream killer?

I could be like a bad girl with a shotgun
That friend you don’t call…till it’s going down for real
Ready to help you fight
In your time of greatest need

Don’t like guns?
Then how ’bout a stealth bow
I promise you
This archer’s aim won’t miss

Watch me make blood sport of
The most frightening of them
On the darkest of alleys

Go ahead
Put the worst of them on paper
So I can shoot holes in it
Better yet
Let me torch them
With my unrelenting, piercing light

And let us – you and me
Watch them incinerate
Back
Into lifeless ashes
As they once were
Worthless
Useless

You didn’t think we were just going to
Acquiesce to our dreams
Did you?

Thought we were going to run and hide
Like some turncoat
Playing afraid in the light
Because they came for us at night

And tried to level
What we worked
Our whole lives to build
In some cases
Undo

Now who’s laughing?

No, they cannot have our children
They have no power to undo love
Our love was not built by their filthy hands

Those dreams must die
But only if we first give them life

Not baptize or dedicate them
All nice and welcoming…like
You do a new baby
Just long enough to
Cut off their blood supply
Long enough to loosen their scarves of fear
From around our necks
Long enough to kill them
This time for good

Their ghosts are not welcome
Not in our beds
Or our homes
Or our children
And certainly, not in our real dreams

The ones we’ve crafted so carefully
The ones we know we must dream
The ones that keep us living
While everything else
And I do mean everything else
Threatens to kill us.

Last chance, you!
Give me your dreams
I’ll kill them for you
Pull the trigger without so much as another thought

Come on
Lay them bare on the page so I can shoot them up.
Bang bang motherfucker!
Oops, there he went.

I am the product of my dreams, she said.
Bet, I replied
But, I’m gon’ make sure the ones I keep
Are good
Life producing
Life sustaining
Blessed
Of the living kind.

“And what of the others” you say?
I buried the bastards.

© SomerEmpress and Life As An Art Form, [2010 – 2016]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to SomerEmpress and Life As An Art Form with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.