A Dreamweaver’s Lament Poem by Usama Maymun
A Dreamweaver’s Lament
a myriad of dreams,
a mosaic of lies,
brief, fleeting images,
at the edge of my mind,
seep like sand through,
the phantom hands of my soul,
Dreams of things that could be,
Or perhaps will be,
opiating mirages splash,
Into my heart's chalice,
they fill my heart and,
I dance to their tunes,
like a lifeless puppet,
or perhaps a fool.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: dreaming
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
it is in our nature to dream of things that might have been, or could be. Even when we know that these dreams may not be true or (in some cases) may be quite silly, we like living in our reveries sometimes. That is not necessarily a bad thing, but daydreams may become curses at times. Misleading and bittersweet.
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/5/2024 2:09:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
