THE CHILD, THE DREAM

The child,
The child of the grass,
Born and raised up to class,
Through waves and tides,
Has it ever been simple?
Run...
Away from the murks of penury,
From the grasps of misery,
How be it, that the child came to be so?
A story told and retold,
A legend forever in the precincts,
In the fringes of current memory,
Spoken of behind closed lips,
Held in the periphery of recollection,
Remembrance,
Wake,
Forever known in death,
As was in life,
Maybe known themore in afterlife,
The child that lived at the edge of the knife,
Does the child have enough to pay you, oh dear dream?
Do you take cheques?
Shillings?
Maybe dollars?
Dreams,
Sleep,
Nightmares,
Through them the child came,
Sweet nightmares,
Terrible dreams,
Dark mornings and bright nights,
Such is the irony of life.
Why nightmares in wake?
Should the child forever remain in comatose
As to be able to live the dream?

Life seen through starry glasses,
Blurry eyes and running noses,
Behind diamond gates,
Marble floors and pearly doors.
Whispers from the further,
As the dream beckons,
'Just let me keep the sleep,
That I may live the dream,'

Sleep child, dream.
























Photo: courtesy

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