Reservoir

Written by  //  January 26, 2013  //  DREAM JOURNAL, WRITING & POETRY  //  No comments

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A queen rules
this land
from that great hall
with that good king
who is evil.

And the flat-gray road
on which we drive
is lined
with mossy hills
speckled with sage
backed by silver-blue peaks
and comforted by
the presence of
ancient stone chapels
long since abandoned.

We arrive.

Dirt
has given way to
a great wash,
a slope of sand
half a league
long.

At it’s base
we build sandcastles
out of seashells
near the muddy, murky shore.

The reservoir sits
calmly behind us
as we work
in the silence
while the growing shadows
from the setting sun
protect us
from
impending doom.

The Eveningtide and
my Memory
are here too
as the water level
rises.

So we escape
to the Arctic Circle
in a silver Corvette
to get free burgers
while singing
selections from
The Messiah.

This is everyone’s favorite place.

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