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.
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights Reserved
Shared with Poetry Picnic Week #16
