Imaginary Sunlight

Steve Pearson Poetry

It was time for his dreams again last night
at the stoop of his yellowed door,
a beautiful dream of imagined sunlight,
of lifting his eyes from the floor,
where he followed a life of different design
days lived like burgeoning flowers
kindled by the rays of a different sunshine
in the passing of different hours.
The passage of time like a crystal stream
with a clarity of hope and desire
’till it meandered away to a crumbled dream
his illusions thrown onto the fire.
He rose to return to the bosom of the day
and it’s shabbily yellowed door,
back to travelling his true path and true way
the veneer of life that he wore.

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