A whole day had gone by, flown by,
I'd written absolutely nothing at all,
Just washed my hands and my face,
Just dressed, shaved, made the bed,
Just prepared breakfast, dinner, supper,
Just watched a bit of the weekend TV,
Yet before I knew it, the day had gone,
Till after midnight, the yawning started
And my day was just moments from sleep.
The dream started just as dreams do,
Somewhere, only this time, in school,
The teacher was on his bended knees,
Pleading with the young children...
I looked on, neither as teacher or as child,
An observer, wondering, taking it all in...
But then the teacher rose, turned directly to me,
Grabbed me tightly by the lapels...
Stared strangely into my eyes...
I woke up, somewhat amazed at first,
To think I should almost be throttled,
That was quite strange and yet what to do?
Should I share my dream with others?
Keep it secret, shrug it off, smile it away?
Then I asked what should I write?
Should it be funny, entertaining, profound?
Should it tell tall tales, or just the truth?
And while I fumbled with the paper and pen,
The words came to me like never before...
I scribbled down lines as fast as I could,
Hoping that I'd not lose a single one...
Strange words and yet not even English,
Such that no matter who I've asked,
Nobody has been able to translate them...
Were the words important or trash?
Would they help Mankind or prove worthless?
In time, I realised something...
I must choose the words I write,
Not merely receive words I'll never know...
That was the turning point in my life,
The day that everything changed...
The day that I decided to
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2013.
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