The Dream
A large wall with flowing ivy seeming to grab the stone.
On it I spot an old, immense arching door.
It asks me in and I accept the offer and bid it a good day.
I stand on a stone pathway of moss riveted stones
With fine silken grass spurned about the mix,
failing to make war for new grounds.
The sun beams at me with a warm, fuzzy welcome.
Plants a plenty surround the walk.
My eyes are pulled up by my surroundings
To which I see a yellow sundress, in it a girl with golden hair,
eyes wildly untamed and blue as the summer seas ,skin white as winter’s furry
but as young in its look as a new born babe.
Thru the wind and light dew, rays of sunlight beat their heart upon her.
Her fist form balls and she stamps her black heals.
Her face full of joy but voice of childish frustration,
Playfully she spews the words “too late, too late. You came too late.”
I then awaken in front of a large wall with flowing ivy seeming to grab the stone.
On it I spot an old ,immense arching door .
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.