No dream has ever been the same,
they came and went as ocean waves,
horizons took the shape of trees,
the sheets to all their floating leaves,
each time I walked down memory beach,
each wave returned taking the best of me,
the more I begged for repetition, the more
I lost to season’s tidings, tracks washed away,
forgotten words embracing forests, abandoned
children craving for a home, no dream has ever
been the same, but still , when sleep is overtaking,
I wake up to new beginnings, and faintly in between
a scent is left, one wave leaving the nest, the uplift of
a memory looking for shelter, a shoulder for the coming
storm, one womb becoming then the home land of oblivion.
(picture taken @ Wissant, Nord-Pas de Calais, France)
Boutman 