I Had A Dream

The cost of giving up on ourselves and our dreams is often cheaper than the dissapointment of watching them dissolve like sparse winter snow.

The desire to reach back into the cosmic fray of our minds and call out greatness is so innate one has to wonder who put it there.

Atleast I do after the 19,862,022nd time I have brought forth the courage to pour out my innermost being like summoning King Arthur to pull the sword from the stone. Only to be mocked in the cold frigid air of the village square of my insessently doubtful mind. With one pathetic tug I am reminded that I’m not as strong as I think.

Or atleast that’s the intrusive thought that keeps me washing the dishes of better authors in the caverns of my innermost being declares to me in stone.

I want to invite Dr. King Jr into this place devoid of dreams and beckon him to look at the shattered hope of ceilings not shattered so unceremoniously strewn about my feet. I want to welcome him to wade into the troubled waters of my thoughts to ask how exactly did he hold onto his dream when the world and even his mind wanted to sink them.

I see you there concluding these dreams are unrelated like divorced step children but one thing that is more apparent than the melanin in my skin is the man who marched so the cornucopia of words chained beneath them could sing free at last and declare what centuries of slaves long to project that we are more powerful than you or even we think.

Only the thing about slavery is you can get your freedom papers and still not realize you’re already free. That is what a day is like to be sat in the meticulously decorated room of my creative mind.

You see Dr. King Jr. every time I endevour to to make war on the master of my doubt his vicious whip arches my back into reality. Then with tears and sweat ebbing slowly down my face I am resigned to letting my dreams die in captivity.

Covid-19 infected what was already sick since I first fell in love with words and robbed what little vision I had left so how do you expect me to see what you were trying to build for little boys like me to come.

I had a dream why the caged bird sings and it was because the steel and bars his circumstances made for him could no longer hold him down with dismay so his melody pierced the darkness like hot metal. I’m not sure that’s what Maya said but it’s all I see.

I long for that kind of courage. Like hers and like yours to stare down centuries of distain only to walk across bridges not made for you declaring we shall over come one day.

Sometimes it is necessary to muster the courage to sit down in the front of the bus driven by fear and with a quiet resolve declare I’m tired and I’m not moving until you drive me to where I want to go.

This is the space I currently sway.

So take me to the mountain top. Take me where Dr. King said I had the right to go. Deliver me to the steps of the house my ancestors built and they said I could not occupy until 2008 came and served them an eviction notice. You see hope is a recessive gene so it’s in my blood that tilled the soil bearing this fruit.

Taste and see that what the Lord let live is good.

This is me putting down the dirty dishes that never get clean with pessimistic fronts and walking back up the winding staircase to occupy the throne of confidence Dr. King died to let reign.

If you had a dream like me that this ever mutating season of darkness has tried to suffocate then let us stand shoulder to shoulder arm in arm treading into the fray. To let our unfathomably beautiful light lead the way out through volleys of ‘cannot’ fire. To make yes we can more than a campaign slogan but a battle cry in the war on our dream. To let our hope take the skies again and soar on wings like eagles were made to do.