Should I fall asleep and never waken — but what if that has already happened, and this life I have lived, and am living still, is but an instant of the dreamy outcome?
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Old Man Winter
Daylight spilling from his tattered sack
takes all night to reach the ground.
I’m a penny on a railroad track.
Choo-choo. Choo-choo-chooooooo.
Poems, Slightly Used, November 26, 2010
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Categories: Poems, Slightly Used
Tags: Consciousness, Death, Dreams, Life, Old Man Winter, Poems, Poetry, Winter
William Michaelian 