Charles B. Snoad

You know the feeling: you’re drifting off to sleep, easing into a dream. The phone rings. You’re awake.

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Life is your inability to continue the dream.

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If God had proposed the idea of my life to me before my birth, I’d have thought him insane. But I accepted the offer before it was made. I wasn’t so much conceived as convinced.

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God once left a cryptic message. Someday I’ll get back to him.

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As a child I wondered where I came from. How at first the world appeared. The cosmos had a pressing thought. Something of a dark matter.

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Life is the length of a restless night. A series of tosses and turns.

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The other day, a dream. UNKNOWN calls. And I say hello.