A Dream

• Nick Burg, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2009

A dream, so soft,
Like swift sentences from his whispering lips,
This endless corridor in my mind,
Which I must walk through to find,
The memory of my lost father.
Return and we'll ride horses,
On the city's purple night clouds.
Hello?
Creeping majestically under the malevolent moon,
Trying to disguise my bloody hands in pockets deep.
An old photo, a dream.