A DEAD MAN’S DREAMS

 

Walk through the gates.

A palace awaits.

Deserted it may be,

nothing is free.

The marble floors sparkle with light

through rooms of magic & delight.

Rooms furnished from the past

come alive as we walk past.

A dead man’s dreams of hope,

a man with no life or scope.

Only in darkness, he may survive.

Too bad he’s dead & not alive.

He waits for the end of time

in a house built on a rhyme.

THE DEAD GAME

MAGIC

Suburban witch

 

 

MAGIC

 

The new spring blooms colors.

But who even bothers

to breathe the sweet air?

I don’t have a care.

My car fails to start,

a walk in the park.

I raise my small hand.

Gone is the quicksand.

I race down the hill,

a heavenly thrill.

Shocked faces turn to me.

Only houses I see.

 

MAGIC

Source:

 

It governs our lives.

It sets our course

On the paths, we follow.

Igniting our colors

And forming our creations.

Like words in a book

And brush strokes on an easel.

It gives us life

In multi-color.

What is it for you?

 

 
 

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