Pocketful Of Dreams

 

I need these lines to be
at least about those things
I meant to say, not words
selected for their odd
texture or dubious origins
and there I go again, just
words which equate a
sense of where a you
and I appear

I’m no grievous poet yet
and never hoped to be but
you are one who’s free to
scribe to stars with whimsy
consummate

a consequence of reading
far and wide and thinking
on beyond and yet you chose
to make me one whose words
delight – a constant liberal
want to sense what’s ever
shared

so be assured, faeries are
not myths of legends lost too
long from ancient times but
visions new with origins today

they insulate it seems
against a tawdriness of
structured thought - allay
all fear of being caught
without a pocketful of
complimentary dreams
© 27 November 2009, I. D. Carswell