DREAMS
Each
paper slip is a dream -
Green for
walking in woods
where
looming trees
grasp
with gnarled fingers
Blue for
drowning
yards from
a shore
where no-one
hears her screams
Red for dreams
of sex
that
leave her aching but alone
And the shells
are those rare mornings
when she wakes
refreshed
her subconscious
washed clean
of a
myriad hurts.
..................................................................
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Priya Biapal for the image that prompted me this week to write a poem rather than flash fiction. Follow the links from Rochelle's blog https://rochellewisoff.com/ to read what other writers were inspired to write.
