Poetry collection #1: “So, what are you studying?”

Where's that child you once saw in the mirror
The one with the dreams of a future so vibrant
Where are his fantasies when you desperately need him
I suppose gods do retire when they're no longer believed in
Oh that poor child, what's happened to his faith?
The hope and the longing for colours and embrace
What do you see when you look in the mirror?
I hope, for your sake, that it's something worth keeping

You see a man looking up to the sky expectantly.
What do you think he's doing?
He tells you you should do the same, so you follow his advice and do the same.
A single raindrop falls on your face.

It jolts you awake.
You're awake.
Or are you dreaming?
You brush your teeth
You prepare for work
You do whatever else you need to do
You sit in the car, while life whizzes by
Why?

Are you truly awake, or are you dreaming?

You're awake.
It was all just a dream.
You sit up from the couch, and the room burns around you.
Your hands are sooty and blood-stained,
Your clothes are charred and grey.
Somewhere, you hear a pillar collapse.
You're suddenly very aware of the ramifications of said pillar's collapse. What if it played an important role in maintaining the structural integrity of the house? What if it was crucial in holding up an area of the house, that, now, having lost the crutch on which it stood, has no choice but to live out its final moments in silent trepidation, before the inevitable buckle of the knees, the inevitable last gasp of desperation?

You look up to the sky expectantly, and the ceiling comes down to meet you.

You're awake.
It was all just a dream.
You look at your spouse, so peacefully ensconced in the blankey they stole off you.

Don't be ridiculous.

You get out of bed, and notice a soft orange glow emanating from behind the thick blinds.
You pull the curtain aside, and see the End of the World visiting your neighbours across the street.
He's going door-to-door, knocking very politely.
And as he exists the house of that friendly girl with the cute dog, he gives you a wink.

Don't be ridiculous.

You use the toilet
You get back in bed
And you toss and turn, knowing he's coming soon.

Don't be ridiculous.

You get out of bed again, and walk out the front door.
You're determined.
You stride with purpose.
You see him approaching in the distance.
You know what you have to do.
You walk up to him, confidence turning to fear, knees turning weak.
You walk up to him, utterly terrified.
But momentum carries you forward all the same,
All the way into his outstretched arms,
Into his tight, loving embrace.

You're wide awake.
It was all just a dream.
You decide to cry yourself to sleep.

How free is free verse
When confined to some thin lines
Etchings on a wall

Smoke and mirrors, daydreams and nightmares,
They're just literary containers, empty most of the time.
I haven't seen him since, that reflection on the wall,
But somewhere deep within, I know he hasn't gone.

It'll take digging and prying, some cracking, some shattering,
But the mirror's just an illusion, a trick of light and shadow,
He might be scarred, he might be wounded, heaven knows he's been secluded.
A tired little boy in a world made for grown-ups, he just doesn't fit in among the taxes and other stuff.

We're all our own Atlas in one way or another,
How often do we give in to the child on our shoulders?
Has he fallen by the wayside, neglected and torn?
I don't know about you, but mine wants fried chicken.