November 29: Blame The Dreamers

Blame the dreamers for the puddle of color
In the west every evening,
For the delusional crackpot
Who seems to perform on the subways
Speaking to friends no one else can see.

Blame the dreamers for the delicate clouds
you see overhead,
Those fingerprints of the ones gone on before us,
Leaning lacy against a cornflower
Field of blue on any afternoon sky.

Blame the dreamers for the music that strengthens us,
Spirit-like, carried by notes, thin and as light as air.

Blame the dreamers for the wall paintings of Lascaux,
In the damp, dark caves, under flickering torchlight,
Dreaming the bison in such vast numbers,
Thundering across their hearts
To stave off their fear and hunger -

Blame the dreamers for love
Which has no other function than to lift
The soul so close to the galaxy's center.

Blame the dreamers for those other places
Where we may also thrive,
Places not as pinched and cruel as this one,
Where the empty parts of us feel easy,
What dark matter calls "home",
Full of what was left behind at our birth
When our bodies and souls merged,
Forcing their way into this strange world.