3D somehow becomes
2D and I am
transported through time
to when clouds
were shapes
and the sky
was an endless
playground.
Terra tugs at my core
caressing lost strands
of self
as my inner child
sings nursery rhymes
fit for a killer.
Death lays all around me.
Abandoned graves
aging trees
Adulthood on the
lost lips of kids as
they grasp at the
milk cartons
and for a moment
I see St Nicholas
flying high through
cornflower blue skies
I close my eyes
for a last moments
reprieve
“please wake me
from this dream”
but no one hears
I am four and
discovering
that God does
not exist…
… I lay now,
supine in a
moments serenity
reflecting my daily
wish to wake from
this dream
they call life…
Karen Hayward ©2018
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