Poetry (34)

Hello Escritori,

I was a bit downhearted when I wrote this, but I felt better for it by the end. I think that’s just generally because finding the right words to express your truth is a form of catharsis.



As unlikely as it seems

There is,

You know,

A way, with dreams.


You plant it

And you water it

You sing to, or about it

You grow it, you reap it

You grind it and you mill it.


Then you knead it with your hands

And you need it with your heart

Until it’s inconceivable

That you should ever part.


Until the concept

Of space

Between you and the dream

Is a concept so alien

As to be obscene.


All the while

You’re kneading

You twist it

And you torture it

Then you take it,

And bake it.


Then you break it

And see, what it’s


Made of



For a dream is the only bread

That you can eat with butterflies.


(© Copyright Pola Negri  15/02/2016.)


7 thoughts on “Poetry (34)

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