Once I dreamed
the love of my youth
knelt on the porch, praying
for me
while I gave clothes and food
to those who had none.
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But a man came
and whisked me away
without my love’s knowing,
drained my blood
through a plastic tube
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filled himself
with my energy,
my youth
my magic
turning my veins
to stone.
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I lay dying,
attached to him
until someone in white
turned a knob,
reversed the flow,
sent his cold blood
back into him.
He cried out,
in anger or pain,
I am unsure.
I saw him once
afterwards,
in a gray coat
on a park bench
in the rain.
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I walked
by my love’s side
said good-bye to him,
then turned to light
and streaked,
like a trail of fairy dust,
to northern lights,
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away from the drab man
and rainy parks
away,
to my own country.
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* Yes, this poem was truly based on a dream.
you, my friend must stay away from the spicy food at night.
🙂
–Hey, I’d love for you to write a poem on my challenge #2
glad to see you post again
scot
Hahaha…thanks, Scot! I’ll remember that. No more spicy food when the sun goes down or maybe it should be…not so much TV. I might have seen the Matrix one too many times!
Nochipa
helluva dream, eh?
do you remember many of them? I don’t (remember mine I mean). Only occasionaly.
Wonderful poem, Darlene.
Miss reading your work.
Doug
finally got your book–started to read 🙂
Hey Ozy,
Ironically, I do remember most of my dreams, in vivid colors and details. Here’s a little bit of pyscho truth about me, when I was a child, I couldn’t tell dreams from reality. The line was very smudged until I was about nine and in the fourth grade. I do not know what happened in my brain then, but after that I no longer saw baby dragons sitting in the trees outside my windows, or dancing mice in the living room, or foxes wearing clothes during my waking hours. The zebras stopped coming in through my bedroom window at night and Santa stopped coming through the front door at Christmas. I spent all of my adolescence afraid that the creatures that only I could see as a child would come back but they never did. Even now, I sometimes do not want to look out the windows at night, because if I see them again, that will mean I’m a little off. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the nine year old inside me is still there and if she can still see them. Maybe that is the reason for the very vivid and memorable dreams I have. I would have made a good Native Austrailian, I think.
Hi, Doug,
It’s so good to see you! I’m glad to be missed.
Scot,
Thank you for getting my book! I hope you enjoy it very much 🙂 Writing the book has made me thankful for the imagination I was born with.
Nochipa
and here I have been looking for these creatures all my life