Nancy L. Meek


Our bad dreams help us shed our fears,
to purge our brains so we can cope,
to greet each day with smiles and cheers,
hearts filled with peace and hope.
The sounds of guns and mortar shells
sit back until we’re fast asleep
then blast away at our private hells
destroying fears we’ve buried deep.
Our eyeballs dart beneath their lids
as they watch our dreams unfold,
as our egos tangle with our ids,
logic and reality put on hold.
Our sleeping frames remain intact
as we dredge up things taboo,
supplanting how we would react
with a more primal point-of-view.
Repressed emotions assert their will,
the weird does not seem weird,
all gloves off, like a pleasure pill,
to confront those things we feared.
Then, bad dreams done, we bolt awake,
drenched in sweat like a horse rode hard,
the better for it, make no mistake,
as we count off another yard.
We made it through another race,
to enjoy another day on earth,
to feel its sun upon our face,
till evening falls upon its girth.
We dread our dreams for all they bring,
but we treasure breathing more,
our hearts wrapped around that thing
our comrades died for in the war.