Dreams

The NaPoWriMo prompt requires including a line, a memorable line of someone else’s poetry. The golden shovel is a form that preserves the integrity of the original line, using it in its entirety, but you only see it if you know it’s there. I’ve written two versions of one from two different perspectives. I thank Shakespeare for the inspiration.

The sty of contentment

They envy such as we,
those whose lives are
humdrum, who have such
banal wants, the stuff
that fills attics as
soon as the novelty has worn off. Dreams
of white-sanded beaches are
what fill their nights, hand-made
souvenirs bought on
a local market and
real bargains. They envy our
happiness with so little,
our simple, authentic life.
What we have is
well-balanced, healthy and rounded.
enviable by
any standards, a
life not unsimilar to sleep.

A sort of peace

The world has little time for such as we,
whose wants are
few, our desires such
as stillness and small beauties, the stuff
as hard to find as
childhood. Our dreams
are abstract, the things that are,
not bought, sold or made.
We have only this road we are on,
those who walk with us and
share stories and sorrows, our
companions for a little
piece of the way. This life,
all that we have, is
one another, our bubble rounded
and cradled by
green meadows, a sort of peace, a
dream without sleep.