poetry by j matthew waters

the dream interpreter

every time I come to some sort of conclusion
the next riddle presents itself
and I am forced yet again to deal with
this thing called life

when the next riddle presents itself
I tend to sleep in
using my dreams to my advantage
writing them down in fits & starts
and taping them to the wall
pacing back & forth
sometimes a forefinger
placed on my lower lip
other times with hands on hips

not everything is solvable
at least not in this lifetime
where dungeons & flying dragons
plastered on tear-stained walls
are as real as death itself

december two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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