Fledgling In Hand

Fledgling_Bombycilla_cedrorum

(source)

…and in all dreams

I soar

and risk

and shelter

alien to life

awake demands

be there, do this, 

must do better,

in dreams

another life

in different hands

gentler hands than mine own

more forgiving

big and soft and strong enough

to hold my all

fledgling am I

not yet born to living

in dreams

I’m free

to risk

and fly

and never fall

Reading a poem by Paul this morning and immediately agreeing with its sense of other worldness. I recall a lot of dreams. Not sure why. But I love them. It’s a whole other world where I’m almost a different me. The essence of self perhaps rather than the shell-encased. Or not. But most enjoyable.

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10 thoughts on “Fledgling In Hand”

  1. because I rarely remember my dreams, beyond the flash of an odd phrase or image, I feel as though there’s this large unmet clone of myself out there – and I often wonder how he would handle my daily circumstances

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  2. The ‘essence of the self’ may indeed be true. Sadly I very rarely recall my dreams, and, if I do, they are soon swamped by the everyday.
    A lovely sentiment behind this poem which is something to cling to.

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    1. Gawd, I wake up with whole poems and stories. Heck knows what I’m doing in my sleep some of the time! Taking up most of the bed on my travels by all accounts – spreading my wings. I don’t know why I recall them so well but I do enjoy them. 🙂

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