Saturday, May 5, 2012

Poem Composed While Asleep

The lighthouse flare
burns the hillsides,
the flowers that play
something they are not
to stand apart
to get along
must now be real
to meet the light.

2 comments:

the walking man said...

Yep playtime and dress up time is over. Time for everyone to see the true colors of the fools in the garden.

Hannah Stephenson said...

Did you dream this poem? I like that.

The flowers are sticking with me...flowers that play something they are not (in order to remain individual and persist/survive? Or, actually...."getting along" here sounds more like peacefully coexisting)...they then have to "be real." I wonder if this means that they have to NOT get along, or NOT stand apart.....

...is a puzzlement. I like it!