Writer’s Book of Days Prompt: Write about a recurring dream
where do they come from
these dreams of running
something cunning
is there a meaning
a missing something
throw the bones
read the runes
the calendar of days
of trees of magics
older than we are
older than the beetles
crawling in the graves
that wait for me
what saves me
is this one thing
that grace will give
another chance
a dance
for us no thought
for dreams and hopes
fear of what I wish
I knew I run and run
and feel the something
over my shoulder
on my heels the wheels
of my mind frustrate me
I know me not and fear
that if I did I would
find me boring
if I were more able
more social more stable
more willing to try
to buy into the ways
of you and yours
would you accept
I’ve kept it light
you never liked it
deep too sad
you said let’s drink
and laugh and time
will pass
but something stays
behind and buried
cannot breathe
this withered atmosphere
a shriveled tear
left on the table
traded for a smile
I do love the way your poems come tumbling out! A wonderful linking of ideas. Well done, Dee!
Thank you Jessica!
I like how the voice changes from almost frantic or manic to winding down, soothed somehow.
WAY cool.
Thanks Susan!
I know me not and fear
that if I did . . .
I suspect the narrator’s voice is not the poet’s voice. Much self-knowledge in thee, Dee.
sigh. sometimes self-involved is more like it. I wrote this about the time I pointed out that you might be in a pissy mood. Looks like a case of pot and kettle lol