The Dream Master

Dreams insist on destroying my happiness,  
tainting the moreorless pleasant flow  
of here and now.  
 
Barely have my eyes closed  
in blissful repose  
Than the dream master opens  
his bag of tricks --  
 
Selecting characters, feelings,  
and silly situations  
To create his comedies and tragedies  
and, just as often, dramedies.  
 
They whisk me back to times  
and forgotten places  
I had assured myself were safely  
under lock and key.  
 
Lies & truth and wishes & fears  
weave an intricate tapestry  
Which could never be unraveled  
by Sherlock Holmes himself!  
 
I awaken to find myself floating  
in a fog of emotions & ghosts  
Reluctant to dissipate even in the sunshine  
of this beautiful autumn morn.  
 
But do the dreams themselves  
destroy my happiness,  
or is it that I cling to them  
to morbidly re-experience  
 
The fleeting, fading vestiges  
of times & places & characters  
That have left my heart jagged & bleeding  
from open wounds that may never heal?