Yeah, I Still See It.

Why do we dream if
our thoughts mean nothing?

Why do we cling if
they are to be ripped away-
a favored toy and
we outgrew it?

Question all,
and nothing makes sense.

Refuse to accept this
at all costs or

you might pay,
and in the end

be spent wholly
with nothing left to hold on to,

so you drown and sink
in the trap the majority
finds themselves unable to

to the places they came from,

a result of a memory
that haunts their thoughts,

a scattering, maddening
in the forehead and soul.

leaking into the vision
as a reflection of

a dream.

by Ayn Timmerman

Other poems of TIMMERMAN (37)

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