Sandlands and Fish

4 Comments

Tags:
  • Fantasy
    • Desmotti
    • The wraith is but sadness in mortal form. It haunts to hunt, and hunts to feed. It cannot feed on any emotion. This is its pain. for emotion is not segregated it is fealt, and to feel is warmth.

    Poem Commentary

    Whatever...it's mine

    Sandlands and Fish

    I twist and move to find the comfort...
    a cozy place to enter sandlands...
    The sandman holds the key no more...
    I am no child I've closed that door...

    The place exists...I go there often...
    to find myself a pool of blue...
    The twilight night in sparkle reflected...
    off glassy liquid I still see through...

    They swim and brush against my hand...
    and legs...and stare up with wide eye...
    The Sandlands swimfish-come in color...
    They change at will when passing bye...

    I feel the cool, although I dream,...
    of waterous pools and nearby stream...
    I wade and walk and think in shapes...
    I look about at distant dreamscapes...

    I won't return I tell my spirit...
    hoping I will listen this time...
    but once again...it's back I'm led...
    Again to wake up in my bed.

    My eyes snap open...I lift my head...
    I scan a bit I'm still dream wound...
    another day-then sunset shifts...
    Then back to Sandland my spirit has found.

    Poem Comments

    (4)

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    dumplin commented on Sandlands and Fish

    04-16-2010

    OMG, this is awesome! I can't say I've ever been taken through someone else' dream before. I'm a Pisces aka The Dreamer.

    papapaczki commented on Sandlands and Fish

    03-11-2010

    Very good poem, Desmotti, as always. Thank you for sharing.

    papapaczki commented on Sandlands and Fish

    03-11-2010

    Fo shi moaha bong cheech hoo hoo. Yow mongo von weebles.

    am2anangel commented on Sandlands and Fish

    02-25-2010

    I really liked this one great visuals a true glimpse into the dreamworld in your mind. great write. well done-tonya

    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

    Desmotti’s Poems (25)