by Ashley Pereira
Some dreamscapes hide behind closed doors
Lost in a maze of scream-filled days
And haunting quiet nights
Some dreamscapes live in honey-glazed frames
Lined up in cloaks of cow and tree skins
Woven over string and leaf skeletons
Some dreamscapes feast on memories
And gorge themselves on the unspoken
The tokens of gratitude we spit from different tongues
Some dreamscapes are the stores of stories
Left behind by the ultimate dreamers of humankind
To soothe those lost in the maze of blurred days
And endless, sleepless nights
Category: Poetry