Be real about hallways
Lined with windows, or mirrors.
Be real about dreams in stanza form,
Which aren't real - stanzas I mean.
Write about flowers and rain,
If you must, throw in some stars;
Moons always read well,
Or seaside waves lapping.
Call it a poem,
A free verse or well-crafted couplet,
Matters not, unless it comes from the heart,
Whole or broken; wise or foolish.
Temper it with lovers, friends and family,
Bake it in the soul,
Then release.
Dump your lover,
Start another.