My first thought this morning: If I slept like a rock, it is a rock that dreams.
My second thought: If I slept like an angel, it could mean anything.
No Foothold
No foothold on the brooding rock,
or memory of the climb,
only joy in stepping off,
and these awkward wings of mine.
Recently Banned Literature, August 7, 2014
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Recently Banned Literature
Tags: Angels, Diaries, Dreams, Journals, Memory, Poems, Poetry, Sleep
William Michaelian 