Falling dreams
At that hanging point
Where it all seems doomed to slide
Rushing down towards dark water
Like some clifftop house into the Pacific
Someone turns on the light
And you find yourself dazzled
Realising your dream was telling lies
And the cliff was sound after all
The sheets are a tangle
Your chest damp and heaving
But you lie there in your sweat-sodden bed
And thank god you’re not falling.
Words and image are my own.
©2019
Runaway American Dream 