Dreams Tell A Story {An Original Poetry}


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Most nights, I dream of castles,
of river shores and gardens.
Some beautiful, some colourful reflections.

Some nights, it's just the cool breeze that keeps fantasies alive.

Most nights, I dream of burning bushes and empty rooms.
Some anxiety, some depression long overdue.

Other nights, it's just a replay of the red-sea fable but without a Moses
No wonder this freedom tastes like defeat.

Most nights, I dream of silent nights,
of twinkling stars and bedtime lullabies.
Some beautifully cute thing cuddled to sleep.

Some nights, craving those tiny breath of innocence, of the peace, of the joy from childhood.

Most nights, I dream of long halls adorned with red carpets,
of a great stage of people where there's no people present.

Other nights, it's just a resounding applause from empty chairs and tables in attendance.
No need for a Joseph to translate broken and dead dreams.

Most nights, I dream of hope,
of joy, peace, and happiness,
Some bright and colourful future that awaits me.

Every nights, I see gradually as dreams become a person,
kept alive by some tiny yet noticeable breath.
That assurance when I know what fulfilment awaits me,
Some good, some better, some best versions of me.

Written and edited
By @aduragbemi
Erinkitola A. Aduragbemi