Deja Vu
I wake beneath a single tree.
I roll and balance myself on the trunk.
Carved obsidian.
I look up, to the large canopy above.
Yes, silver leaves, maple style.
Covered with the finest silver dust.
Similar to the delicate powder on butterfly wings.
The wind swirls, carrying the silver,
thru the night air.
The moonlight catches on pieces,
Flashing bright white in the dark.
I am on a hilltop,
overlooking familiar rolling hills.
Not a house or man made light,
of any kind to be seen.
I never know why i am here again and again.
Still I enjoy returning to this particular dream.
I roll and balance myself on the trunk.
Carved obsidian.
I look up, to the large canopy above.
Yes, silver leaves, maple style.
Covered with the finest silver dust.
Similar to the delicate powder on butterfly wings.
The wind swirls, carrying the silver,
thru the night air.
The moonlight catches on pieces,
Flashing bright white in the dark.
I am on a hilltop,
overlooking familiar rolling hills.
Not a house or man made light,
of any kind to be seen.
I never know why i am here again and again.
Still I enjoy returning to this particular dream.
This Poems Story
dreams
Public Collections Containing This Poem
Other Poems By This Author
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Chronic Pain
PoetAngela robeson
-
The first six months
PoetAngela robeson
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