Thursday, 25 April 2013

The Warmth Of a Dream.

    We live in a cruel system and today's poem asks the question, Who knows the past of a stranger, who knows the future of a friend.

The Warmth Of a Dream.

He lay in a dark doorway, dreamed of home,
night frost locked his joints
morning rain chilled the marrow of his bone.
In the dream there was a sister,
a pram in a garden, a crowd of youngsters
who called him mister, a time of little pain.
Are these youngster the same young men, who
now laugh at him, throw beer cans,
piss on him as he lies drunk in some dark lane?
When was that first step down this slippery slope,
when was the first step to no forgiveness.
No will to rise to beg for food,
numbness kills the pain.
The dream brings a warmth that feels good,
dark fog shades out consciousness,
an ambulance carries off a body washed in rain.

ann arky's home.

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