Dream Weaver

Shoved my head in the lion’s mouth,

won’t do that again!

but it follows me around,

licking it’s lips in sin.

Who could love a man like me?

Ah, I’m not that bad…

Who would cut down a fairy tree?

Ah, I’m only half-mad…

Smelt black smoke in the book of spells

What dream is this I’m in?

I wrote and wrote till my heart bled,

to try to wake the Dragon.

What are dreams but spells we weave

to entrance ourselves?

What are hopes but promises we seek

to keep us from meeting ourselves?

Leave the past behind

and the future go,

sit down with yourself

and make friends.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated John Horan’s story.