Thief Of Dreams

Thief of Dreams

He must have come in the dead
of night,
the thief of dreams.

Did he visit once,
collecting them all in one fell
Or did he return many times
over the years?

I remember my dreams,
dreams that waned,
battered and bruised by life
but not bowed.

Some dreams remain,
mere vestiges
of what they once were;
uncut diamonds
overlooked by the polisher’s

Insipid ambition
failed to reveal a
solitary multifaceted gem.

Am I responsible?
Does the burden sit squarely
on my shoulders?
Did I relinquish my dreams freely?
Was I not bold enough?
Were my defences lacking?

Either way,
he took them willingly and
tossed them into the
black hole of unrealised desire,
the light of hope dimmed
little by little.
Dreams shattered,
piece by piece.

Maybe dreams are the domain of
the young.
They hang on to them steadfastly,
don’t give up on them so easily.

When did I become so weak?
Why did I let go?
How did I lose my grip?
When did I forego title to my

It must have been in the night,
in the dark,
when the thief of dreams came.
I wouldn’t have handed them over
in the bright light of day,
would I?


It was the thief of dreams .


An Autumnal Acrostic

Autumn Sunshine

Autumn sunshine and shadows dance
under rapidly changing
unloading their summer burden, as
myriad leaves fall,
noiselessly, in the pale
under a fading blue sky,
nervously twitching as they
signal that
here we are,
in the waning of the year,
near the skeletal time and
earth’s final gasp before renewal