Poem: Dream

We were all depressed, us poets us thieves.

But then we opened our eyes, we looked to the skies, we cleaned up our act – we breathed.

Us lot, that lot, what is our lot? To live and work and die; and love?

To Love. Now that’s a thing.

To Love and be Loved. Now that is everything.

I hope and I plead. But not always.

I dream.

Was being Loved just a dream?

Let’s jump. Let’s be.

Let’s dream.

Dreams are real don’t you know? Love is real.



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