A Fool and His Dreams

The fool that is me
sprinkles seeds in concrete

Waters them with poetry

Waiting on a bounty
of false harvest fantasies

The fool that is me

Writes verse by moonlight

Crafting rainbows at night
that nobody sees

The fool that is me

Choking on self serving 
well deserved anonymity

So full of rage and blame
at his decaying dreams
slowly dying
on the toxic vines
of creeping reality

Choking off all delusions
that this sad author
is anything more
than just another
self delusional mediocrity
toiling the barren fields
of creative emptiness