we determine our dreams
as far away thoughts,

mere future endeavours 
of a juggernaut

who once had a vision
one time a desire
to conquer her demons
and balance the wire

and we ponder upon
their infrequent truth

seldom succeeding as
we suppose them to do

forever our intentions
as high as the moon
and is that why were broken?
our purple-grey hopes all

battered and strewn?


- now listen to yourself,
all hung-out and drawn,

I’ve climbed the sky
in my slippers at dawn.

all through the valley
sun scrambling the clouds
wander the forest, 
all buzzing and loud,

free and contented,
green and allowed.

And I wonder, just if
our dreams were real

would we achieve them more 
readily, less quick to conceal?

If we labelled them true,
deeming them safe, would
we dream with more confidence
neither aloof nor in strafe?

but answer I can’t 
as a colourful soul

written in ink
on a parchment scroll.

answer I can’t
as I’ve seen the valley
I told you I’ve climbed
the sky at dawn

all that’s left for me now
is to lie on the lawn

head soaked with dusk
and evening musk

and stare at the stars

The End

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