the dream

the dream

A Chapter by Tim Lion

Sun Tone

sometimes

watches me

through her

shadow veil.

 

I smile,

pretend to exist,

 

hope she believes

in the lie I’ve created.

 

bright fantasy

eclipses real sobriety;

 

something spongy

to bite on until

the screaming pain

fades to sleep.

 

eyes close.

eyes open.

 

dream

never ends.



© 2011 Tim Lion


My Review

Would you like to review this Chapter?
Login | Register




Featured Review

that dimensional edge between sunlight and shadow... ah there's the magic....

the dream never ends— but that's exactly it's purpose....

you've stirred the cauldron, breathed the vapors, gritted the teeth and expelled the diluted myths all to render to the finest state of distillation the essence of creativity.
It's raw and sublime at the same time and you MB have shown us all the way.
Bravo.

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

that dimensional edge between sunlight and shadow... ah there's the magic....

the dream never ends— but that's exactly it's purpose....

you've stirred the cauldron, breathed the vapors, gritted the teeth and expelled the diluted myths all to render to the finest state of distillation the essence of creativity.
It's raw and sublime at the same time and you MB have shown us all the way.
Bravo.

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Speaks not sleeker

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Love it! It sleeker of dark plasure and yet at the same time of how light. Is there but only superficially there. It was a pleasure to read

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

aye

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

284 Views
4 Reviews
Rating
Added on July 20, 2011
Last Updated on July 20, 2011


Author

Tim Lion
Tim Lion

Lake Worth, FL



About
Sometimes, when the moon presses her naked chest to my window, and my wife is carving the value from trash scraps, I feel like I may never be able to outshine my finite timeline. And the worst part is.. more..

Writing
oh sorry, oh sorry,

A Poem by Tim Lion



Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..