I am dreaming, or maybe not:
I am in a snowstorm, white and eerie,
my feet are frozen,
and the lady in the burned-out cabin
won’t allow the heat of the dull sun
into my mind filled with desires of warmth.
Shadows of razor-sharp howls
are following me like wolves
slinking in my nightmares
with the odor of blood.
I yearn to smell the aroma of roses,
tired of living without scents
in another place where
pseudo wolves prey on the homeless
in allies in the ugly cities.
My dreams are becoming more distant,
and I seem to be living
in an unreality where stars
hang jagged in a sky of suppositions,
streaming through the darkness
of my pen’s ebony ink.
James Piatt lives in California in a replica of an 1800s eastern farmhouse with his wife, Sandy. He is a Best of Web nominee and three-time Pushcart nominee. He earned his doctorate from BYU, and his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, SLO. He has four collections of poetry: “Solace Between the Lines,” “Light,” “Ancient Rhythms,” and “The Silent Pond,” and over 1,560 poems published worldwide.
