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Drew's Plays, Prose & Poems
Poetry by Rachel A. Gold

Day

Drew Hurley

Singing of the nightingale,
we wander down
the endless maze
of lost souls,
searching....
Searching
for some
forgotten path
to lead us
to the speckled trout
of tomorrow's
now forgotten
dreams --
which yesterday
will be remembered
as the nightmares
of the day
before.

.

.

Torn,
the darkness
scream
across the pock-marked
mountain
of forgotten fears,
dashing desires
upon that hopeless
rock pile
of delusion
called reality.

.

.

Crawling
into the caverns
of our souls,
we hide behind
our glassy-eyed
windows --
frosted
with the fear
of sight --
and pretend
to see.
Yet the harshness
of our stumbling
agony
blinds us
to the spinning
orb of life,
and the fruit
of the juniper
falls within our lap,
and dies --
unnoticed --
as we step
across
the curbstone
of illusion
into that miasma
of fictions
called reality.

.

.

Sailing his leaf
across the flaming
sunset,
a squirrel
frees us --
for a moment --
from the prison
of meaningless
jumble
which traps
our lives.
In the damp,
cold darkness,
we once more see
clearly
into our souls,
and know
the being
which lives
within our bones.
Not content
to become
what we are,
we name the truth
a dream,
and the nightmare....

.

.

The nightmare
we call
reality.

.

.



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Tuesday, 04-May-2010 14:47:42 EDT