Dreaming my life,
Reality just those facts that I imagine.
Even when I slept rough at nights
One misty London winter,
(February 64),
Just another boyhood dream,
perhaps?
A drab romantic venture,
A page in my CV to be pored over.
Being an idealist
Reality is always other peoples problem,
Or so my parents told me
To sort my thinking out,
to put me right.
In other words, they thought dreaming plain
wrong,
Thoroughly Out of kilter.
But I always thought them wrong, to be quite
honest;
They lived their lives on the other side of the mirror
Where truth was back to front to what I witnessed.
Being a born idealist
I brusquely walked away to live my dream,
Yet artists are fierce realists in life
However strange their pictures may first seem.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
9th. - 10th. August 2022.
