Little Dreams

Rickety wood long bent from hard pressed values

Sticky fingerprints left to rot for decades

crying past in time linked to bodies of the fallen

dragging through space relentlessly.

Exhaled breaths attempt to expel pungent memories

yet tendrils refuse to unravel; locked in crystalline structure

woven by bleeding fingers

torn from years of mistakes

and singed by the flames of others.

Between the crevices lurk little dreams,

throbbing from fear of darkness,

having long since fallen from unzipped pockets

not noticed when left behind

to freeze as seasons turn.

They weep in sorrow

forever burned by frostbite

shivering in an eternity

beneath the old wooden bench

stained from what people left behind.


4 thoughts on “Little Dreams

  1. Wow! This is a pretty abstract piece! Not safe at all! So outta the box! The ruminations and writings of a mind so deep! I love how you strung these beautiful lines around what looks to me like an old, lonesome bench; sitting in a park! Having folks come and go, when its made use of! Gurl, your sense of imagination’s to die for! However did you think to spin what I’d term a tale, of folks; who’s had to sit on that old bench; with their various individual struggles and unfulfilled dreams?! This is brilliant, Wow, AGAIN! LOL


  2. Katie, you are a web-slinger of lines… spin golden silks of words, weave them into rugs on which hearts float away like autumn leaves. Even the most industrious and skillful arachnid needs to learn one or two things from you about the art of spinning webs.

    Liked by 1 person

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