I long for a bounty
of lead dreams to drop like fruit
on a starving mind and soul.
Just as dreams can change one’s sleep,
so too can a passionate epiphany
conjure up the living dreams
kept fantasised when we walk
each day in our sleep…
But you see, I refuse to be a somnambulist
shackled to to mundane professions
like destiny-dead peeps.
I want lead dreams carved by lead hands
to set me free!
Am I the next Hughes/Walcott/Leroi Jones?
But if one line of verse can reverse the curse
of so many failed lives rolling to the hearse
then my purpose will have been served.
For the written word to me
is not just a well of personal strength and certainty
but a bottle of hope to pass
from one thirsty hand to the next.
This is the dream my heart dares meet––
poetry crafting new lives, new worlds
on barren paper sheets.