Dreamskimmer
And slipped away the dreams, the waste inside remains
unprobed. And purblind, he who used
to range alone through nights and days. His eyes are balls
of ice in which no kind of past
or future shows. Dry stones, like those flat ones he sought,
a child, along the shore and skimmed
across the water. Now he can’t be strong enough
for any of the giants he braved
and crushed when still the dreams were slipping into him.
His sight is weak, he can’t discern
the ripples on the surface other hands and eyes
are calling back to life. He’d want
to rise and near, he’d want to see and hear, to learn
what made him sick and sucked his brawn.
He tries repeatedly, and screams, to repossess
his dreams. He tries again, in vain.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.