In a Dream Without Knowing (a poem)

Excuse me folks. I'm still learning the ropes here. I'll get better at this.

My two previous posts were photos of the house on the hill. Here is a poem which, I think, evokes a similar vibe, although it has nothing to do with a ruined house. It's about memories.

In a Dream Without Knowing

Curtains breathe in the window,
My mind freewheels down memory’s road,
Finding milestones in the fog.

Blank tarmac separates them –
only white lines measure out years,
years of forgotten travel.

People I knew act on the roadside.
Their expressions don’t change while doing
the same things, over and over:

A calculating teacher beats me with a cane;
policemen enter my bedroom at night,
but I can smile and not care.

Past lovers are there to be summoned –
they never refuse me, but they move
with certainty, like robots.

They are prisoners in my past, my cohort of ghosts,
their power fading in my dreams, without knowing.

I live there too – strangely changed, yet familiar.
I wish to introduce myself to myself, talk
and ask many questions.

I am a prisoner in the past, with a cohort of ghosts,
powers fading in our dreams, without knowing.

And if I could travel their parallel roads,
where would I find me? What would I be doing,
and what would my countenance be?

I am imprisoned in my past, by a cohort of ghosts,
my power fading in their dreams, without knowing.