Dreams of the Patriots

To Kill The Stars

A cockroach died of starvation in my cupboard,
Slightly annoyed as I laced my muddy shoes
to go outside and find my way to the store
steal some coffee from a bank before I buy some booze.
I dropped my American Eagle key on the grimy bathroom floor,
felt the pennies jingle in my pocket as I looked for the quarters,
walked out the heavy gas station door
and ignored the bums who were the regulars.
Ignition starts and I know I’m lucky today
Tomorrow to remain, tomorrow another story
No planning 'til the dust fades away
and the morning yields me glory
The sea seems to me, drowning
and my contemplation with stern frowning
To what the majestics of my youth and yesteryears
and how they became catalysts of these present day fears


This poem is plagued with dreams. Can you find each one?

Hope, Life, Tribulation

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Vic Cory Garcia
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