When wasted dreams of longing
Form half-hearted in my mind,
And life’s little vagabonds
Run screaming through the well of time,
I search for distance amidst despair
And wish for wondrous sights
To fill my eyes with color and light,
To fill my mind with brilliant spectacle.
Break away from life’s indiscretions
And lean towards the obviously there.
Reality is physical existence,
And dreams are but fragments of air
That cannot be caught by frivolous hands,
But my skin shines, hard and gleaming,
In a looking glass of abnormality,
So I will grasp quickly the dreams
That flutter about my head,
And fantasize hard and endless
Even if but thoughts of the grave.
Really nice, Trisha. I love how the physical and the nonphysical meet here...how you use the parts of the body to create a sense of abstraction.
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