Remembering Makes Me Smile
I first dreamed I could fly when I was very young.
Ascending past the tallest trees plunged me among
the clouds—and past, but sun’s bright rays refused to burn
my tender flesh. I felt quite free on each sojourn.
Did love of make-believe engender dreams of flight?
Was it vice versa? I just know I still delight
in memories of dreamt adventures in the night.
Perhaps you’ll laugh and think I’m nuts, but I confess,
from time to time--though I am in my seventies--
I dream that, only briefly, I have taken flight
and drifted back to bed upon a pleasant breeze.
Psychiatrists might say my life is incomplete--
that dreams of flying symbolize that thing I lack!
I won’t believe this unless in my dreams of flight
I leave the earth and dream of never coming back!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment