I was both a hostage child and a victim of kidnapping
When dreams held me at ransom
A little quiz to conquer, a lass to call my own,
A poem to fill the pages of the New Yorker
And growing up those dreams were like medleys
That fitted one on a throne and gave her a specter
To maneuver the anatomical soldiers. The fuel driven heart
And the lust soaked body, and a water creature called a mermaid
Swimming away when I get close to her. And one day, I used
A fishing net to entice her, a net of inked verse
To take her on to my hull and still she escaped through
The netting. And love was just like that.
A long and enduring cause with little reward.
And now I search for my high in not-so-little verses
And graft them on parchments made of alabaster.
It’s the only dream alive. Like a little flower
Blooming on a graveyard of dreams. And an old man
Fertilizing the flower with organic waste.
And perhaps that flower will never wither
Or lose her petals, as she holds her poise and grace
On the peduncle of hope. And that is all I have
Hope lifting one dream, a lonely one nevertheless
And it only takes one dream to inhale and exhale
A little conversation between air sacs and capillaries
And I will ride hope bareback and be my own warrior
A wordsmith who transforms to a patternmaker
Knitting together beautiful patterns of words
With the needle of a nib.