A performance poem, best read aloud.

I’m dreaming of silence,
not the kind that comes with snow,
but the silence that follows after the shouting,
after the endless noise of wanting,
after the hollow applause of things that never mattered.

I’m dreaming of faces,
not lit by fairy lights or shop windows,
but by the fragile glow of honesty,
the kind that trembles when spoken aloud,
the kind that costs something to say.

I’m dreaming of a world
where the hungry are not invisible,
where the broken are not discarded,
where the measure of a life
is not the weight of its possessions
but the depth of its compassion.

I’m dreaming of time,
not the ticking clock that mocks us,
but time that bends,
time that listens,
time that lets us hold each other long enough
to remember we are more than shadows
passing in the dark.

I’m dreaming of love,
not the polished kind sung in carols,
but the raw, unvarnished love
that bleeds,
that forgives,
that stays when staying costs everything.

And I wake
to the ache of knowing
that dreams are not enough,
that silence must be carved from chaos,
that faces must be seen,
that hunger must be fed,
that time must be wrestled from the grip of death,
that love must be chosen,
again and again,
even when it hurts.

I’m dreaming of a world
that remembers what it means to be human.
And I will not stop dreaming,
because to stop
would be to surrender
to the emptiness
we have mistaken for life.

Performance Script for I’m Dreaming Of…

(Soft, deliberate tone — almost whispered, tinged with weariness)

I’m dreaming of silence…
not the kind that comes with snow,
but the silence that follows after the shouting,
after the endless noise of wanting,
after the hollow applause of things that never mattered.
[ 3-second pause. Tone shifts to fragile hope.]

I’m dreaming of faces…
not lit by fairy lights or shop windows,
but by the fragile glow of honesty,
the kind that trembles when spoken aloud,
the kind that costs something to say.
[2-second pause. Voice heavy, resonant, tinged with anger.]

I’m dreaming of a world
where the hungry are not invisible,
where the broken are not discarded,
where the measure of a life
is not the weight of its possessions
but the depth of its compassion.
[ 4-second pause. Voice softer, yearning, almost pleading.]

I’m dreaming of time…
not the ticking clock that mocks us,
but time that bends,
time that listens,
time that lets us hold each other long enough
to remember we are more than shadows
passing in the dark.
[ 2-second pause. Voice cracks slightly, raw emotion, grief breaking through.]

I’m dreaming of love…
not the polished kind sung in carols,
but the raw, unvarnished love
that bleeds,
that forgives,
that stays when staying costs everything.
[Long silence. 5-second pause. Then, sharply, voice rises with urgency, anger simmering.]

And I wake
to the ache of knowing
that dreams are not enough,
that silence must be carved from chaos,
that faces must be seen,
that hunger must be fed,
that time must be wrestled from the grip of death,
that love must be chosen,
again and again,
even when it hurts.
[ 3-second pause.  Voice steady, resolute, conviction burning.]

I’m dreaming of a world
that remembers what it means to be human.
[2-second pause. Whisper, almost breaking, vulnerability exposed.]

And I will not stop dreaming…
[Raise voice, final crescendo. Tone fierce, defiant, triumphant.]

Because to stop
would be to surrender
to the emptiness
we have mistaken for life.