Poetry

Countdown, 16 (351.)

Eyes stray
over the video feeds,
who’s looking at me?
Is anyone?
Am I looking at someone
a little too long?
Does my brain create fantasies
a little too often?
At night I listen to sentimental songs,
and imagine precious moments
before I fall asleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
Would that I could walk
into sunlight, and turn my daydreams
into those real, precious moments.
Blessed reality.
I can conjure the imagery,
but to sculpt it,
to manifest it right now!
Ay, there’s the rub.
I’m tired of talking.
May we walk today?

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