The Poet’s Dream

Ideas that take foreign shapes lead to restless sleep

He lays his head ignoring the ghosts of the undead

She posts a post on Facebook that no one understands

“Why’s she so weird? Who would like this post?” They whisper behind bright screens, reblogging ideas simple and plain

He dreams of knowing her name

That girl in the coffee shop that looks too shy 

They dream, of someone knowing their name

(I’m writing this half asleep)

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strangerpaths

Poet, making sense of war, humanity, love and greed. Trying to find the magic in ordinary things. I am Zee

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