Dream

What happens when you go to sleep
And you don’t dream?
What happens to all those thoughts you should have, could have, would have had
Had you not chosen to close your eyes for too long a time under that big oak tree. 
Or was it a maple? If so you should get some syrup!
Eh...
It was probably just a tree. 
Or maybe it wasn’t a tree at all and you're asleep in your too cushioned bed, 
head laying uncomfortably cocked on your once-fluffy pillow,
now a vague remnant of it’s former proud self, 
tormented by too big a head and too much a burden to live out its full long life.
But it doesn’t matter where you lay.
Beds don’t absorb forgotten thoughts with any more fervor
Than the soft, damp earth meekly holding your weight. 
Your pant’s slowly soaking through
Your brain noticing too late to stop the wet stain you’ll have to fruitlessly clean by hand
To keep up appearances. 
Or maybe you knew and chose not to care
To for once, go along with life’s little trivialities like a leaf falling from a spring tree
Blown down by too strong a wind. 
Or maybe you knew and forgot
Fell into your dreamless sleep too quickly to change course and get a blanket to sit on,
To stop your inconvenience.
Or maybe you just peed your bed. 
Life menacingly forcing it’s way into your dream
Invading your one place of purpose, your one sense of fulfillment.
But you don’t dream. 
So you must be under that tree. 
And you will spend 20 minutes scrubbing a stain that will never come out. 
And you will not care in a day. 
Or an hour. 
You never can tell. 
But you will remember that dream.
You did dream after all...
Right?