Childish Fantasy Dreams
Down a winding path father and me, hand in hand,
what is truth departs as I float in this dream,
echoes of my childhood are faded memories grand,
into the long ago past my tangled thoughts gleam.
I am a little girl again in this fantasy dreamland,
where fantasy and reality flow like a winding stream,
I am taken to a childish life with no plan,
old the door that opens to this fantasy it seems.
Fleeting, wispy are the images that expand,
I am helping mother make cookies "a la supreme",
on a scarred old wooden kitchen chair I stand,
each dream is different, each a fantasy theme.
A girl turns and looks at me, her face bland,
it is me, this girl, lost and lonely that screams,
raven hair, the depth of eyes like quicksand,
sadness is entwined with happiness in this dream.
Grandma strokes my hair with wrinkled hands,
even now I hear mother's laugh like a sunbeam,
memory of an attic room nestled in farmland,
fantasy and reality fill me with tears that gleam.
Laying in grandpa's arms like a kitten found,
later in life, I knew of cruelty and hate extreme,
my fantasy is my sanctuary, refuge, my safe land,
where again and again I can be a little girl, it seems.
I hear reality calling so I let go of father's hand,
awake I weep for this place, this fantasy dreamland.
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June 14, 2013
Poetry/Rhyme/Childish Fantasy Dreams
Copyright Protected, ID 06-485-736-14
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2013
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