Dreamers

Dreams, I think,
are like their dreamers,
spawned by their moods,
aping their attitudes;

see those garrulous,
backslapping dreams,
getting together at sunset,
at a tea shop on the horizon;
laughing, cursing,
trading secrets,
waiting for sleep
to give them their cue;

mine just looks
for an empty path,
that the stars
have forgotten to light;
slips in alone, late,
clutching the apron strings of the night,
stepping gingerly around the clouds
not splashing through the wind and dew;

see, dreams are so much
like their dreamers;

mine tiptoes down in silence,
sees my crossed fingers
and crosses its own too;
squeezes its eyes shut
and tries to dream
fervently
of a new moon.

April:#30- 20/30

12/7/15: Linked to Poets United