In my youth I dreamt that
  I could soar above the clouds
O’er the trees and o’er
  The green hills of our sleepy town
I’d glide up to heaven
  Not aware of the gathering crowds
As eagle wings magically appear
  All covered with down
In my youth I rhymed words
  And waxed poetic phrases
To tell tales of make-believe
  From the recesses of my mind
But life obscures vision and
  My imaginary world vanishes
No tales of romance to narrate,
  It is a fate most unkind
At the nadir of my wretched life,
  An angel appears to me
With pen in hand, an encouraging word,
  And yes, papyrus too
Behold! I can write verses again
  Of the new worlds I can see
Heroes and maidens, sunshine,
  Sunsets, the most breath-taking view
If I can write poetry again,
  Will then my flights of fancy
Return to me so I can soar
  Once more to the skies so blue?
© Vic A Evora


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over 6 years

Thanks Charlotte

Charlotte B. Williams
over 6 years

I used to dream I could fly, still do sometimes. In my dreams flying is my way of escape when I"m running from something. I always get away safely. Enjoyed reading this.

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