A Dream Escapes

A dream escapes my grasp of time, I float, I float, I float blind. Through kaleidoscope scars I bear, my fears mingle with rattlesnake snares, and ticking, spinning clockworks chime and chime, like death’s rasp, and repetitious rhyme. I’ll lend you these thoughts: I keep them in a glass vile, and I’ll wait for the best moment to shatter. They’ll then ponder over the matter, as if they were sadder! And say, “What an accident, she was forgotten!” But I dream, I dream of the dead. Their dark whispers haunt my books. And I want to give them looks, I want to tell them I feel. And that I too see in hues of vivid memory.