Remains of a Dream

He awakened, with thoughts of his dog, thoughts of his god,

Encircled in the fog

Of the remains of a dream.


Things are not what they seem,

The answers they so often spun,

His mind on the run.


Imagining thoughts as they weren’t,

Were not there,

Would not share.


Without care,

Thoughts spun,

Mind on the run.


From jailed thoughts spinning,

Web of thoughts done,

Like that silky web of dew’s mist,

Shining in the sun.


Hand-crafted poetry by John Hines, 8/1/2015

Written upon awakening from a summer nap…

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