Ula Goss

Rookie (1994/04/14 / Verening)

Harvesting Of Dreams - Poem by Ula Goss

The sickle moon is the scythe in my hand
The sheaths of hope are few and far between
I see it now
I'm harvesting my dreams

A poet of the sky
The stars become my eyes
I am in them
Picking from the carcass of the day
Harvesting my dreams is the only way

The words spilled forth
I said them aloud
I trusted
But dared not listen
My voice was drowned out,
By me
Harvested dreams and caged words.

I feel the cold steel of the scythe
I hear me hacking through my mind
I once called the world sightless
But now I might be blind.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, February 4, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, February 5, 2013

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