Building Dreams

Dreams come and go 
and sometimes they stay and get to know me for awhile
rustling in the night and sharing a secret joke
sometimes they come with a glare and a slap
or a pinch
sharp and angry  
and exit dramatically like a summer storm                                           I add characters and settings
and other times
~ most times ~
 change the words
I carry them with me everywhere and escape into them as often as I can
because I much prefer that world to this one
I toss their pebbles into the water and watch where the ripples go
and I follow
casting spider threads across 
to build a bridge of silk 
for the dainty feet of visions to pass
Dreams come and go                                                                       and I splash them with the colors of their emotions
and the deepest dark ones I try to surround with light
but sometimes I am too full of dark myself 
to spare any…

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. 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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