It’s like I expected it to be
Instant replay of Fun Boy Three
Chinese takeaway in the microwave
Everything in its right place
objects sometimes jump out at me
like mental play doh extruded through a hole
star shaped, and whole.
What is it and how exactly it came to be
is a story cloaked in dreams and half-truths
of realisation of dreams and of paths walked
or ran down, screaming half naked, with
blood dripping down my face.
Also of patience and grace, bestowed on me.
I saw a painting of a girl on a woodland path
and something told me that would never be me
and I became sad for the days of free imagination
fantasies took from page to being acted out in reality.
Am I a man now I have solved a 500 piece jigsaw? Aspirations
made real, straight and narrow exciting and pleasing.
Or is it poetry and the connections made between
people and places and words on a screen.
Or is merely having the dream?
And not rejecting it as fools gold, something to be scared of
changing your future, ignoring destiny, progress and chance
and focusing on a distant place so close you can touch it
but at first out of place in a world of wisdom and order.
Taking steps while holding the baby of your tomorrows maybe.