Dreamless

moon-artwork-dreams jer-fantasy-jeremiah morrelli

No more dreams
they’ve withered and died
blown away like the papery husks of a lantern plant
I held them close
and tried to keep them full and round and fat
but with nothing to sustain
I emptied myself out like a cracked jar
the dry sand drank it all
and I finally admitted
there was nothing left
no more dreams
it’s too hard
too sharp and slippery to hold
too easily taken
alone and dreamless in a spartan place
where looking at the night sky is only to gauge the weather
and falling stars are just litter along the road

*artwork by jeremiah morelli*

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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