Those who have reached the dream cry hope, while those who grow old in the gray light of poverty shake their heads. So shake me loose. Where is the middle ground? Or is this overcast life it? They say dreams are fickle, corrupting, even. As much to peel you back for spoils as to give … Continue reading The Worth of Dreams
I know there is the sublime to reach for. Kneeling with fire in her hands and golden beauty as her cloak. But I'm here. Single-wide bad paint job debt and treeless sand. I know, somewhere, exists a dream maker. Framed with lightning, outstretched wings, and a rain of crystal or diamonds. But I'm here. Sick … Continue reading Not Living the Sublime
*To a slow jazz tune* Last night I was dreaming I was singing not on Broadway or a big stage just somewhere with ears to hear Maybe quivre'n with fear like me like me. I was dreaming I was singing like I use to in a small school strong with youth. In perfect harmony all … Continue reading Dreaming of Singing (song)
My love, You were raised with your father's ideals but by your mother's pragmatism. When talents first bud upon your hands, you clapped for joy and squished them between your palms, making room for more, but not height for growth. My love, You spy the light on the other side with delight, for look, a … Continue reading Wet Wings
Author T.S. Lowe 