Those Dreams
Dear Diary,
The Dreams,
They come.
Some weave and pass
On their meandering way
Leaving no mark
Or snag of questions.
Others bite and hold
Presenting riddles
To be played out over time
Warnings or truths to be presented
Later
Words or events to be watched for
Some unfold quickly,
Others languish
In time
Pricking thoughts at odd intervals
Or lost within the flow of days, but still
There.
Awaiting consciousness.
Dear Diary .... by Kellianne Sweeney 