The Purpose of Night

[DonSchaeffer]

I toss away
the daily dreams.
None of them matter.
They don't come anymore
and I only miss them a little.
But the few big dreams,
the ones with roots
in stories of nearly and
never are more like wishes.
The roots of never
are more freshly severed.
They still feed my life.
I carry them through the night,
wake up calling up their echos.
Life does not
surrender easily does it?