A Memory - Poem by Bullion Grey
Qube floated down that silent stream riding on the green leaf. Dahlia was blossoming and had the openness of the air, and her graceful warmth was a symbol of what it meant to be female.
But no one knew where the Mole was digging it’s deeper and deeper hole. No one cared to find out what the mole knew, or didn’t know. The mole carried about it’s daily dig, in pursuit of nursing morsels of pleasure.
A fern grew by the fountain’s edge appearing as a one plant garden someone intends to love. To say that it sits, hedging it’s life, one leg in one world, the other leg in another world - would mythologize it. It is the fern that grows between two worlds.
A white dove touches down on the center mantle of the fountain, sipping softly clear, cool, water. Slowly it looks around to see this Aquarian conspiracy. Seeing that harvest has long been passed, and now leisure time at last, this it would be good, we would say,
if this were our own day.
Beautiful music, harmonizes about, without visual view, crowds of good traditions sought after for luck’s firefly. Color in lines and sound mature as more of the melody is heard, allowing for a construct.
So beautiful, yet so peacefully loving,
certainly I could live here forever.
A wagon pulls up on the other side, it is the symbol of the man who’ll take me on my ride. I reluctantly stand and head towards the steps. All of a sudden I notice above the darkest sky, and temperatures dropped, I can see my sigh. The man he whistles and whips horses - jostle to start, soon on the journey.
Then as I open my eyes,
my cat is in my window,
staring outside, and
its five in the morning….and my dream becomes a memory.
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