Tell me dream weaver, what does it mean?
In a dark parking lot with key in hand
Evening tie dangling from a pocket
Once sharp and tucked, now in loose shoes.
Glad faces appeared and then went
None for me, they had places to be
They with bright faces familiar with purpose
All foriegn to me, with key in hand
Feeling alien, slow, obvious, unseen
In the dark briefly remembering
Eyes once searched for me, smiling
How we danced, drunk with laughter.
From this parking lot, I hear the joy inside
Wishing only to be somehwere, anywhere
With key and scuffed heels I stop to hear
The evening bathed in words I once knew.
This is superb, top-notch, LITERATURE. You've convinced me. From now on I shall write poetry right after waking up while listening to Genesis.... but even then I cannot write the caliber of poetry that you achieve. I'd give you a trillion sparkling starry-eyed tens but the voting booth is buried under a ton of ads and won't let me rate. But this definitely goes on my fav poetry list.
Beautifully written and sad to a point. Perhaps this person you speak of is missing something? Perhaps a younger version of themselves. Are you feeling old? Once again Mr Strolis a brilliant work of art.
You are 'Da' Man, Edmund. It seems that few ever focus on the present in any form. The impetus of a dream does occasionally inspire a poem. A less than fully 'conscious' state accounts for approximately 1/3rd of our lives. (Hmm, a few years left, appreciation for when I am there, Minus time when I am 'Not. Factor clarity of The Now with a usual daily response; and you will still die. Now should make a difference.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Best poem ever! Read it again and its film noir quality wrapped around me again.