Room with a View

Dreams are not as they seem
broken from a twist of fate which
wasn’t sealed at all
left as kisses blown as wishes
up to shooting stars.

In sweet repose
I drift
drawing in the safe of
night’s blanketing illusion
(welcome cloak of invisibility)
to not exist till morn’

while dust settles as sparkles
on someone else’s shores
but, I cannot resist the call of

Opening doors onto another
room with a view.


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Shared with Poetry Picnic Week #16