Dreams
You made it very clear that my dreams
Were like a slaughtered wood
No longer standing
Fallen. Burned.
I cannot stand without them
I lie stricken
Nothing to dress in and face the day
Nothing warm to offer comfort.
I cast about in the ashes
Thinking it was the cruellest thing
To take all the colour away
and close my hand upon a seed.
©Juliet Brain, Artsmonkey 2010
