In some stem,
Sap is like blood.
Life flows and blooms.
The mind goes and moves
From thought to thought
And fantasy to fantasy.
Dreams fade like dying trees
And surge like mushrooms after a storm.
Leaping from vaguety to vaguety,
Praying on the subconscious,
Or bringing wonderful visions
Like flowers coming to realisation.
The soil is rich
And so is the material
From which the mind draws
To create dreams.
Grass, flowers and weeds grow from that soil.
Dreams, fantasies and nightmares form out of those thoughts.
So, if a thought is the seed,
Can you imagine the tree?
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Reality | Real People Poetry Collective
PoesíaFeelings from a real person; injustice, depression, sadness, heartbreak, deliriousness. All here, all real, all felt.
