detail from Sleeping Girl by an unknown 1600s artist working in Rome


I’ve heard there’s folk who sleep but never dream –
That seems like a waste of a night,
When I think how my mind is a-gleam with delight.
But point of fact, they do alright,
Just shutting down for hours on end
Affording them the time to mend,
While not distracted by the random streams
That dreamers love to wend.

I know a girl who never dreams a wink,
She simply goes to sleep.
Her nights, she says, are always dark and quiet,
Hosting not a peep.
She’s heard, of course, about our world of maybe
And of brooding guilt,
But has never spent a single night within
The fantasies we’ve built.

I’ve heard there’s folk who sleep but never dream,
They wake like a minute has passed
A third of their life never seen, so sad,
But they can’t well miss what they never had.
Some say they do dream, but never recall
But how would they know they’re forgetting it all ?
Perhaps an echo remains inbetween,
A shadow of last night’s evenfall ?

I know a girl who feels no loss,
She’s done just fine with what she has,
With her endless deep and silent nights
Without the freeform jazz.
What matters, she says, is not what happens
In our nightly world of fake,
But rather what we do and who we are
While we’re awake.

One thought on “Undreamt

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