12-13-2019, 07:23 AM
I dreamt that Yesterday was a phantom child,
who lurked in the shadows of a darkling wood
whispering sweet stories now barely remembered.
He winds through misty memory’s tangled trails
searching a tether to bind him to earth.
I dreamt of Tomorrow, a blinding light,
where siren songs echo through far off halls.
There were infinite doors, every one locked,
labeled with vague words like “hope” and “turn back.”
With fingers in ears and eyes closed tight, I turned away.
I dreamt time was leaking through a crack in the wall,
golden tendrils wafted and curled like smoke,
like shapes in the clouds on a windy day.
Something had pulled at the seams
now we travel through time in our dreams.
who lurked in the shadows of a darkling wood
whispering sweet stories now barely remembered.
He winds through misty memory’s tangled trails
searching a tether to bind him to earth.
I dreamt of Tomorrow, a blinding light,
where siren songs echo through far off halls.
There were infinite doors, every one locked,
labeled with vague words like “hope” and “turn back.”
With fingers in ears and eyes closed tight, I turned away.
I dreamt time was leaking through a crack in the wall,
golden tendrils wafted and curled like smoke,
like shapes in the clouds on a windy day.
Something had pulled at the seams
now we travel through time in our dreams.
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara