THE DREAMS I CARRY

THE DREAMS I CARRY

Scarlet are the dreams I carry,
stained with blood and saline.

Drenched and beaten by the April rains
and the awful silence in between.

The dreams I carry weigh me down,
like Jesus weighed down by his cross,

And on my head is a thorny crown,
a rolling stone encased in moss.

Shiny are the dreams I shoulder,
but do not be deceived,

They’re only fool’s gold, tarnished relics,
fables not to be believed.

Strange and solemn, cold and bare,
and melting in the morning air.

My feet are muddied with the clay
that dirties up the vacant day.

And traipsing on some just waxed floor,
the dreams I carry settle scores.

And tumble lost into outer space,
lost to me forevermore.

Bluish are the dreams I carry,
puffy clouds in a crystal sky.

Silver tears that flood the heavens,
fantasies that will not fly.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED