I dreamed of filling notebooks,
the same old tear-stained lines,
spiral bound and self-evident,
are these memories, unkind;
I dreamed of emptied oceans,
stripped to sand by Father Time,
doomed and underestimated,
are the pages left, unsigned;
I dreamed of darkened places,
with my fate not far behind,
the rotten, hollow carcass,
with a face the same as mine;
I dreamed of scrapping metal,
from machinery left behind,
and bleeding as I cut away,
each bolt to my bloodline;
I dreamed I found a serpent,
with spiders for its eyes,
and a carapace of razors,
closing in from every side;
I dreamed of Live Oak forests,
throttled by smoke and brine,
I opened my eyes this morning,
to the same old tear-stained lines.
Reblogged this on Americana Injustica.
LikeLike
Beautiful
LikeLiked by 1 person
Why thank you! Xx
LikeLiked by 1 person