That one once you were real
but not the world.
Your hand lay next to the empty cup.
I floated in a surreal dream
but it was real, your hand. I could simply have
a tiny bit
then, calloused and hewn with vitreous time
the soft under-flesh of yours
would have been on mine and
but I didn’t.
The coffee shop was full of people
and my life with reality
where dreams push in like climate change
unwanted, unstoppable, overwhelming
and things can never be the same.
Written by Lana Hunneyball
Editor I Writer I Author I Poet
I believe in the power of words to connect, inspire, and transform.
"Life is giving birth to yourself" ~ Erich Fromm