London Poem: Day 196

1 March

I slip into easy dreams,
Away from the slow oncoming
Offenses of memory, and
What they create.
Nearly there, all the way,
And you have not come back,
Like I always thought you would.
But, I suppose that is the role of dreams,
To build and shape the life
We cannot have, and never was.
But, in sleep, another day,
A jittery laugh, a nervous tic,
At that. But, even in dreams, I tremble
At the thought.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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