Usama Maymun


A Dreamweaver’s Lament - Poem by Usama Maymun

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.

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.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Poem Edited: Tuesday, March 10, 2015


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