I dreamt the other day-
Of a night that dreams danced my way-
Of my small and slight, self-made shade-
Of the flitter caught in my harp as the wind, it gently swayed.
I could hear my quickened breaths leaving,
As the wishing wind murmured me secrets where I laid
And those colors of my frequency left me believing.
Dreams danced gallantly in my furtive refuge-
I was alone, impassioned by my deluge.
I was perpetual to the pull of our sphere:
Try as it might, it could never leave its smear.
Slowly I was plucked from boxed bliss-
Taken to inverse rationalities of reality.
I was noticed, seen was my extrinsic veil.
They glowered that I had it all,
That I was but an easy call.
Given to me was it not, my depths chance to enthrall.
It changed them-
And tried to change me-
Then I couldn’t dream.
Couldn’t they see?
All my smiles and laughs were feigned?
All my childhood truth was constrained?
The convoluted belief of what I was and who they saw never waned.
Loved by all was my shawl:
A twiddled misconception of my impression,
When all that was needed was discretion.
I dream again today.
No longer do I ponder to deep into the fickleness of belief.
No, into the wishing well I flung that leaf
And the answer of my breath again awoke me to relief.
I cast myself out of the flocks,
Cut through into my childhood box
And back to the boy-
Who kept warm pocketed rocks.