Superficial light, I believed you were true.
I was even sure it was you who shone through.
My spirits were lifted, hope was acquired
Dreams were envisioned, my heart was inspired.
But when night descended, upon my tiring spirit.
You fell into shadows, and luminance was lifted.
You were a falseness, a snake, a mask to eclipse.
Fiction placed craftily on the cusp of darkness.
©Elizabeth Dianne Allee
Swing with me
In a world of true make-believe
Where we are free
To embrace our dreams
Of tomorrow and today
Plans swirling as we play
Hold my hand, I’ll show you the way
Swing with me for eternity
Against unknown odds
Far removed from urban plights
A single piece if paper
A faith orchestrated flight
Released from hopeful hands
Solitude, her company
Unsure of the final destination
She paints mental pictures of real fantasies
For, what are we without our dreams
Without our untamed ponderings
Strange as the thought may be
We’re each paper planes set free
The final Two-for-Tuesday prompt for this month is:
Write a realism poem. A poem that is rooted in the real world. Or…
Write a magical poem. A poem that incorporates magical or fantastical elements.
Rising to greet
The dreams in his mind
Awakening him from slumber
Asleep or awake
Draped in fantasy’s luster
Mysteries unfolding slowly
Eyes half opened and
Peering into enchantment
Created in his mind
Appear in connecting fragments
Weaving yesterday’s remembrances
With futuristic anticipations
He’s lifted to woven plains
Where blank pages lie
To offer up spaces
For forethoughts and remains
My cloud isn’t pink
How long, I wonder
Will I feel this way
No purple sunsets
In my mind
Only thumbnail moons
In darkened nights
I question the future
Days I’ve left to live
How many times I will
Fall into the same abyss
I ride a magic carpet
In my dreams
I watch my journey
From above the trees
Trying to escape
Than the previous times
I’ve lost my way
My cloud’s no longer pink
It’s, YET AGAIN, a hopeless gray…
There’s a universe filled with lights.
Shimmering glass upon black skies.
Gems, hand-scattered each night.
There’s a sky above, a charcoal sheet.
Darkened upon daylight’s defeat.
Showcasing the dream-twinklings.
Heavens are alive with illuminating accents,
Enhanced by the cover of nighttime’s jubilance.
A spectacle of aesthetic assets.
Dawn returns, and light snuffs out light.
Sparkles are diminished from view for a time.
Resting gently as remembrances upon waking minds…
A pipe dream is better,
Than no dream at all.
Who am I to determine,
What is or isn’t possible?
Perhaps the fanciful dream,
Was planted by God.
Faith the requirement,
But limited expectations bar.
Some choose not to dream,
As to avoid disappointment.
But the light a dream holds,
Can illuminate our voyage.
I’ve shot down many a pipe dream,
Refusing what I saw as false hope.
But I realize now with reflective eyes,
I’ve always had a broken telescope.