Dreams

I was told to believe in dreams
or did they talk of schemes?
But where's a dream to meet
on stolen blanket, stolen sheet?

I washed my hand in a mountain spring
I tried ambiguously your song to sing
I roamed meadows in the early morning dew
and of words I craved a brew.

Fear accompanied me for a while
and vanished with a devilish smile
just to come back again
to spread its colored fan.

From the walls I tore off masks
thinking to cut down tasks
Elephants danced on the rim of my bed
persuading me to believe to be glad.

The smoke in the fireplace swirls
leaving the chimney in dancing curls
But there is still this total blackness
to rotate with towering slackness.

Though I am told to believe in dreams
I am sure of them to have spoken of schemes
On a stolen blanket, a stolen sheet
there is no dream to meet.

© BS motor

aus dem Buch: 'Worser' von Wolf Kursch

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