The Closest Thing To Is That Isn'T Poem by Bruce Schwab

The closest thing to is that isn’t

A dream isn’t.
But just try to convince yourself of that
as the gargoyle, razor sharp claws
longing to gut you like a fish
thunders a mere thoughtbeat behind
steaming stinking breath on your neck
as you struggle running paralyzed
against your own desire for self destruction,
try then to understand you never escape yourself.


A dream isn’t.
But try not to savor the moment
as memory melts with the sun
from your naked consciousness the kiss
of a lovers lost lips. Try not to
lie reaching out for the moment
as the world turns against you grinding
gears, grinding until you mesh
and realize everything is lost after all.

A dream isn’t.
But try to find that truth while drowning in
your own hidden horror deep deeper deepest
beyond conceivable, unleashed to run savage
unrepentant, trampling reason beneath insanity
committing acts incoherent, unthinkable,
discovered owner of hideous hellish worlds.
Wake to find that monster inside yourself beyond
imagination. Be glad then that a dream isn’t.


A dream isn’t you are. Loves lost burning embers fallen
castles splendor.
A dream isn’t you are. Own worst enemy and friend
pursued and pursuer.
A dream isn’t your are. Monster held to your own mirror
mesmerized by the face of yourself.
A dream isn’t you are.

Bruce Schwab 2008