The Dream Flees The Dream... - Poem by Carlos Barbarito
The dream flees the dream,
nothing can hold it, neither
rope, nor magnet, nothing. And this remains,
wood that burns and smokes, alone.
From the shoulder to the belly, a stake.
Of flesh with an air of flesh, a stake.
Years, days, years:
they grind, devour, revile,
through a channel of silence,
with eyes open, mouth silent,
something broken that was alive, in the centre.
And if a poem, this one, all poems, are words,
are words enough, do they suffice?
Comments about The Dream Flees The Dream... by Carlos Barbarito
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You