Mirages

by estory

The dreams we had back then

When the world was a game of stickball

Won with a home run hit out of a parking lot

And the ball ending up on the neighbor's roof;

Or riffs of air guitar

Mimed in our bedroom closet mirrors,

Barrels of monopoly money

And match box cars;

Now they all seem like planes

Flying out of the frames of windowpanes

Back in the old neighborhood.

But all these years

Later, we still wake up

To cups of coffee

Conjuring a life

Lived out on the balconies

Of the old, grande hotels

On windy mornings

When the wind takes us away

To Monaco, Villefranche

Or St. Tropez

Where we dream of getting rich in the stock market,

Picking out the winning lottery ticket

Or the winner of the Kentucky Derby

On Derby Day.

We always seem to be in the impossible dream

Of kids walking through the looking glass

Into Wonderland,

Or vagabonds going on a treasure hunt

Somewhere on the Silk Road

Out passed Samarkand.

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Dreams are one thing, reality is another. But dreams seem to be a part of our soul, Something we just can't lose, no matter how much we grow up and how mature we get. Our dreams just change. We seem to always need a possibility to reach for, an out or an escape hatch, no matter where we are. Is it because we're not comfortable in our own skins? We feel we don't measure up to the success around us? Or is it something else? estory

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Dreaming those impossible dreams

Mirages

by estory

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