Drifting Dream

Life is a dream
The people we meet
The places we go
When we have passed their way
They are called memories.
Until we get there
Its as though they were never born
Or a place we have never gone
Its a narrow threshold
Between memories and a dream.
They both walk hand in hand
Down this narrow path
Even after life is gone
That Memory and that dream goes home.

by Cecelia Weir

Comments (1)

We go to places and many people we meet. We gain memories. Life seems to be like dream really. An amazing perceptional poem is well drafted...10