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Images extracted from
the tapestry of my dreams.
Sewn intricate...
Into a patchwork.

A quilt,
embroidered with lavish sequins and ornate beads.
Bringing forth fantastical motifs...
A dazzling display
upon the backdrop of my dreamscape.

Yet...
This mosaic of dreams
does not warm me so.
It never lasts.

They fall away like autumn leaves
come the dawning sun.
They get washed out and pulled into the tide,
as the waves beat upon the shore of wakefulness.
They fade into fragmented memories
that make no sense...
Incoherent and disjointed.

Eventually, they disappear...
For they do not belong
in a world of worldly things
and ticking clocks.
Their intangible and mismatched nature
render them inconsequential...
Naturally...
They get misplaced.

But I am stubborn.

I will fashion such a blanket.
One that skirts the boundary
of this realm and the other.

I will tailor it so...

So that...
I will sleep tonight,
swaddled tight and cocooned within its
glorious seams.
Tucked within the safety and warmth of
this blanket...
Woven immaculate...
Out of
worldly things and breathtaking dreams.
I do believe
Mental strength
Is forged
In the dysfunctional family unit

So remember
It doesn't matter
If all hope is gone
Ya better be reaching
For that last piece of chicken

Or you'll be going to bed
   Hopeless and hungry...
Traveler Tim
I meant this only as a joke.
I was blessed to have one piece of chicken.
I placed a pebble upon your grave
A small unblemished stone
And stayed a while, my day to waive
So you were not alone

The yawning sun stretched heavenward
Blinking a weary eye
And rolling under a blanket cloud
That cloaked our world in a silver shroud
It crossed a mourning sky

And kneeling at your earth-made bed
White marble pillow for your head
I talked a while of that and this
And all things in-between,
To ease my burdened heart, remiss
For days you've never seen

In angst and anger at your loss
Oh how I'd gladly gladly toss
Your villain in a stream
And watch them flail and watch them choke
And take a stick and **** and poke
To hear that villain scream --
But only in a dream

Too young to fade, too late to save
Too small your marble stone
I placed a pebble upon your grave
And walked away, alone
There lived a man, a crooked man
Whose shadow far did it trail
He walked with aching joints
And clumsy footfalls ever so frail

The man who seemed to have prized his solitude
This company he could never appreciate
He had made this journey in a futile attempt
To flee from his grounded mate

The man had cursed and hurled stones at it
He shouted with his old, failing voice
Made known that he didn't want to be stalked
He begged to be granted his choice

But the man whose eyes were used and grey
He never could see very well
We see him berating his own crooked shadow
For he was old and never could tell

He hastened his pace but his shadow still stuck
As long as his feet touched the ground
At times he would rest, at the foot or the crest
Breathing heavily without a sound

Know this man, the crooked man
Whose clothes were tattered and torn
See this man, the crooked man
Whose body was tired and worn
Part 2 of 6
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