In dreams, the thoughts are in my mind
But when I wake, they’re left behind
No pen or paper by me bed
To help recall what’s in my head
Just remnants of my stories stay
Whilst most of them are washed away
And pictures that once looked so bold
Now lie in tatters, bleak and cold.
The canvas, torn, frayed and scarred
A storytime, severely marred
I only want dreams in my head
Remembered when I wake in bed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is an ode to dreams, haunting us in the morning but rarely remembered in details. I love the pictoresque tone remarkably interpreted by the poet's pen. Thanks for sharing, Paul.