The Poet

January 20, 2009
She dreamed wondrous and heart-stopping things,
filled with life and death and beauty and hate.

She dreamed herself into existence;

She was nothing and she became everything.
She floated, she flew, she soared, she crashed.
She dreamed of hammers and dimensions and shards of glass.

She dreamed without reservation.

She took the world and made it her own.
She dreamed great and terrible truths,
and of falsehood and betrayal and treachery and the inevitable.

She dreamed about the end,

but she did not once dream about me.

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