Broken Dream

1 Comments

Broken Dream

Lost in a breeze she stood whistling,
and beside her, time stood still...
I stood in the doorway staring
as moonlight glistened on the window-sill...
I felt a warm chill.
She was focused yet empty minded,
dishwater dripping slowly from her hands...
whistling softly slowly sifting;
through yesterdays broken dreams...
tomorrows' detailed plans.
I walked up quietly from behind,
wrapping my arms around her waist...
her response was subtle and kind,
her skin had a sweet, fragrant taste...
I could call her mine.
Turning, she offered a comforting grin,
throwing her arms around me...
 water began dripping down my shirt,
the alarm clock is ringing again;
Im awake now...
and I hurt.

 

 

Originally written by myself, Matthew Tregear, in September of 1998.

 

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RymaHouri commented on Broken Dream

02-17-2010

i like ur poem...its like waking up in a dream.. and reality came...

When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

MatthewTregear’s Poems (6)

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