Sometimes I Feel Like a Watcher in a Dream

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Sequences unfurl before me, around me
Manifested by a tired mind
Puzzling through the leftovers of today.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Gazing through windows in a room without doors
The intentional design of a sleepy architect
Longing for someone to serve witness to their existence.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Searching the horizon for footholds of reason
Constructs of truth in a make believe world
Where paths are made of both stone and quicksand.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Borrowed scribe to chronicle naked testimony
Of reasonable and unreasonable judgements
With a pen that drips empathy on stacks of blank paper.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Trapping understanding in locking boxes
Built by Freud and churches and worried mothers
With porcelain keyholes and glass tumblers and crystal keys.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Muted by a divine yet nebulous purpose
Galvanized by faith and confidence and duty
Where I may silence the aching isolation of my disconnect.