The Early Dreams

I am the girl who tears scraps of poems and tapes them to her bedroom walls

So she can read them before she sleeps

One night she dreams about a flying man

Tearing open the world’s rusted skin

The air falls away, the ground disappears

The ground that crunches bones and splits spines as easily as

Lighting a match

She wonders why he doesn’t die

She wonders how he knew the world would plummet below him

Instead of rushing up to meet him, like death flying in her bedroom door

She feels that when the sun rockets over the eastern seaboard

And her eyes open

The force will tear his wings out of their earthly sockets

 

Those were the early dreams

She clings to the words on her wall as the world reels forward;

The poems whisper to her in the sunlight

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression. Always let poetry fill your life. Keep expressing your heart.  

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