We all know the feeling, I guess.
Waking up from the all too real dream.


I gather myself, and draw breath, deeply, sweetly. Light circles swirl above my cup, morning tea, wonderful smells from another world. I let my eyes get to know life, slowly, once more. Behind them, wheels are turning. Digesting the wonders of the night, journeys in the fog. Dance and sorrow in glimpses, moments, portions. Nostalgia and an unknown future, right here, on my breakfast plate.

I never got to say goodbye - who were you?

Todays headlines, shining in matt grey. Opinions and paradoxes poking me between the eyes. Like the west wind, but with annoying bits of cold rain in it. I'm back.

Poetry by J. E.
Read 904 times
Written on 2010-04-26 at 12:49

Tags Dreams  Reality  Morning 

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Rob Graber
One's future on one's breakfast plate: a great metaphor!