A Grey Dream
A Grey Dream
Standing in the rain, staring at the wet, rolling field, the
woods just beyond, I dream of courage in the saddle,
of a horse I’m not afraid to ride. He won’t have to be
perfect, and I won’t pretend I’m an angel. I won’t be
afraid of being alone, that on top his broad back, I can
handle the gallop of his narrow, wet neck, because I’ve
stopped being afraid.
It’s a dream of better things to come, seen in this wet field that
smells of cold and a winter not yet arrived. While I stand
rooted, I see this girl ride him in loops, and though we aren’t
the same, I dream that someday I’ll be her, but today, this
moment, I know it’s still a dream.
He is in a gallop with her whispering in his ears, feeling
secure, feeling a peace in the drizzle, an endlessness in
the rain. Soaring across the field they go; a grey, and
a girl who’s not afraid of being real.
Of all the dreams I’ve made, this one remains.
This is the dream I can’t let go, because here in
the rain, they need only be.
This is November, the season to be slow, where I dream
this dream – that one day I’ll stop being sick. I’ll
have a horse, this pretty grey of three shades – I can’t
decide which is better. I’d like him to be big, thick-boned
and strong. I’d want him to know that I’ve learned to
care, that I’m not a child any more.
I’ll tell him I’m sorry for all my past, and that now we’re
together, I’d just like to ride, and I’ll promise not
to pretend I’m somewhere else, but that alone
on his back, he can take me across the field, and we’ll
be damp and cold, our legs sloshed with mud.
Dreams are prettier, you can pretend you are
a hero, but this thing I hope to make real, that when
I’ve grown some more, I’ll enjoy his damp coat
and the grey sky, and not fear the gallop.
I rode his back in many of my dreams. When I was addicted
to the dream of being a hero, I rode him then, and now,
pulling myself back to the present, I keep him with me.
As I put away the sword, the bow, the fear, and the false
pleasure of dreams, I keep this little treasure with me.
My confidence keeps growing and so does this hope, that
in a field under low skies, I will one day feel better and
clean. I’ll know once again in the friction of the saddle,
and I won’t be scared of learning, I’ll take the mistakes
and move with them, I won’t hide myself away. Someday
I hope to find him, however he’s named, so that together
we can enjoy the damp bite of November wind.
Walking away from this field, I know that someday I’ll
be ready. I’ll lead him in, laughing and wet, but for now
I whisper to myself, someday Descry, I’ll own you for real.