There’s a clearing in my mind where I can wander,
Like a field of dreams was planted long ago,
Sown by whom I’ve met and all I’ve felt there,
Waiting for the crops that had to grow.
There’s a feeling that I’ve been this way before then,
Like someone gave me glimpse then left my side,
Notional directions then abandoned,
But – not really – more as if they ran away to hide
To see if I could unearth in the threshing
Or the harvest, whenever it should come to pass,
If teasing, in a tempting sort of measure,
Should balance books bet or if I’d come in last.
I feel I’ve failed the test before I started,
Like the race was rigged before I left the block,
Like someone changed the rules and I, as usual,
Was writing or just reading some strange book.
There’s a field of dreams I guess we all get lost in, when
In a semblance of a future once glimpsed past,
We entered name and limbered for the race and
Hoped against all hope we’d not come last.
Strength to muster, this was all we asked for
Strength sufficient and a well-kept pace,
Sweat and toil, all that work notwithstanding,
We thought, believed that we could maybe win this race.
I never was a runner in my dreamings,
Nor in life – I’ve always walked with ease –
Sauntered through, feet always planted firmly
Though my mind has gone its own way as it pleased.
I s’pose, like most, I’m just some kind of farmer,
I trudge through day and work and fret and always feed my sheep,
I sow and reap and gather where I can do,
I rest my head and pray for easy sleep.
But the voice inside my head that keeps on saying,
‘Arise, awake, you’re sleeping when it’s dawn,
Get up and move, the day is almost over,’
Urges me to seek a brand new morn.
One where fields are harvested with fairness
And work’s a task we gladly take in team,
Singing, laughing all the while with gladness
That this is real and not another dream.
I guess I’m dreaming even while I write this,
The status quo exists for world and also me,
The race is almost over, I’m exhausted
And weeping for we all who just won’t see.
I wish I didn’t care and love was easy,
The way it was when dads and mums were glad,
Once upon a time, in some strange dream land,
In field of dreams where none are ever sad.
I can’t believe I’m writing and not hoping,
It’s the news, you see, I really shouldn’t hear,
All that goes around and races onwards
Fills my dreams and field with crop of fear.
But, listen, I know I can’t leave this foray
Into dreams and fields and races and this life
Without one, at least just one, little seed sown.
In love and light, the work is cleaved with sharpest knife.
I guess that what I’m saying is I love you,
Bizarre, I know, when all of you are figments of the light
Cast across my screen like all the seeds sown
Filling field of dreams in day and night
I wish that I could write in brief, a haiku,
Syllables all counted and best said,
Time being of the essence, that would serve well,
But, alas, that knack in me, bypassed my dreams and head.
I’ll go on dreaming just because I have to,
I know no other way to make things real.
Arise, awake, enact, forgive my earnest ramblings.
I call it, tell it, dream it as I feel.
scottishmomus 