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We’ve all had the dream, the one where we are floating, moving effortlessly like an eagle gliding over the earth.
I wait for this dream more than any other. I’ve taught myself to recognize it instantly as a dream, and I quickly brush that fact aside in favor of what I really seek.
It’s not to feel the weightlessness, or to waste what precious little time I have staring back at myself, lying in bed.
This is my time to capture the idea that my mind is not bound to the earth. It is my time to listen even when all I hear is silence. It is my time to reflect on the nature of my existence, to rise above the limitations of everything that rests in the physical realm.
I do not wake and ask myself what it means to dream of floating. I do not seek out the voices of philosophers or sages or psychologists to answer this question for me. I simply wait for the next time to fly, to know that I can go anywhere and access anything if I truly allow myself to believe that I am free. I know of no better place to believe that then when I am a bird of the universe.
About this poem
Nothing matters more than finding one’s own reasons.
Written on February 19, 2025
Submitted by existentialworld on February 18, 2025
Modified by existentialworld on February 18, 2025
- 1:05 min read
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"Poetry.com" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2025. Web. 19 Feb. 2025. <https://www.poetry.com/>.
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