Your dreams do not predict the future,
Be relieved they process the past
So you can function this morning.
Your fear still burns
The sweet blood in your veins,
It contaminates your heart.
Your dreams wake you in a sweat.
The anxiety you felt when he refused
To rebuckle, the dread you felt when he
Ran past the play ground into the crowd,
The terror you felt when the car broke
Just a fraction too close.
Your dreams are not real,
But real enough:
A girl swept up by adulthood
By things she cannot control.
Tired, nevertheless,
She does persist.
Poet's Corner 
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