122 292
MarkMurphy
122
A Dream
Remember how young you were when we first met?
Don’t worry. No one else remembers.
Time has spun its web
but we are like creatures that never grow up.
You, Alice in wonderland, realising your nature,
and me, the Mock Turtle, too sad to read on,
too greedy with tears
and prophecy to see beyond his own self-loathing.
What a waste! To think we might’ve loved
momentarily, like swans
in the span of a lifetime we no longer have use for,
our lost songs swelling within us,
dividing us again and again until the pilgrimage
of our souls no longer has any hope
of future meetings or blessing.
Sorry to broach it, but a kind of madness drives me.
The provincial poet, always on the look out
from his garret, his crow’s nest