The Somnambulist

Must have been

A somnambulist


Through 67

Blurred years…

Sometimes memories

Rise up, barbed thorns

Drawing blood

Scenes float by

As though imaginary

It’s not me portrayed

Is it?  Can’t be my life…

Mine was planned by

Those uninterested

In my dreams

It wasn’t my design

To move through days

Decades like one of

The undead, or a doll

Activated according

To hands pulling

Invisible strings

While I hoped to be

Someone else

When I finally


©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

4 thoughts on “The Somnambulist

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