I am in this crop of rooms
seeded with dust
and old thoughts
and all my friends are dead
it seems
appearing only in
remembered dreams
their faces young
the voices old
and vaguely familiar
my mind travels
at the speed of light
and covers mountains
lakes and skies
and searches for their little specks
and all my friends are dead
it seems
i hold them tight
and sometimes they scream
to tell me
its time to let them go
perchance we'll meet
in another life
or maybe no
not ever again
the memorizing of them
can be pains-takingly
painful
the clouds gather
in my head
an entire rain's full
and soon the droplets
begin to fall
and down they tumble all
drowned in the waters
rising up from the past.
from the recesses of my mind in a fog of a dream
LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 9:43am PST /JUNE 15, 2021 TIME AND DATE STAMPED
AND ALSO FOR THIS POET/WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE:
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD