None to guide the way out of those dreams
where you know you’re dreaming
and simply want to claw your way into the light, grey sky
of morning, any morning.
No markers for you to cling to,
no staff to take up and battle, conscious vs subconscious,
a fight not to the death but to waking,
hoping that the sensation of your body moving
is not from the body that is trapped,
hoping it is from the one where blood flows
and grants oxygen to your brain.
You call, you shout, you scream.
No post-it note to remind you that
dreaming about waking up
and waking from a dream are separate things,
and only one can stop the night terror
that paralyses you in the minutes
sleeping past your alarm.
No one to tell you that sixty seconds in the waking world
can be a lifetime
in the dream state.