When I repost
an old poem
I feel like a con.
It easily trends
like when it begun.
Same poets read
Similar comments repeat
causing my creative force
to feel incomplete.
Lazily I write
uneasy I flow
I lost my only muse
and now my mojo!

Change is coming
I can feel it in my bones,
its rattling, creaking and
knocking at my door.

Change collected skeleton's
inside my closet,
I didn't invite it,
it came and sat beside me, whispered to me its secrets
and stored what it could.

Like a spider,
change wrapped me up
in its web, prepared me
for the difference in which
I am a prisoner
between
life and death
where
I hang in the balance.

A bag of stars
I carry on my back,
wishes yet to be cast
upon the night sky,
full of threads and needles
ready for my stitches and
new designs.

A bucket for my dreams
in one hand, flooded reality,
over streaming to the edge
with lucid daydreams washing
my mind with endless
possibilities.

The possibilities are so vast
it seems a void is all around
me, my dreaming eyes
are open wide
for I am never blind but
I am ignorant.

Without ignorance
I wouldn't learn how to see
with my lucid mind,
the possibilities would be
a true void and
my dreams would be
a lie.

I once was a daydreamer
but I flew over the mountains
and over the Seas of possibilities
coming to the edge of my life
realizing, I need to rest.

My stars are fixed
and my life is full.

For now I am a thread
in the eye of a needle
ready for change to
guide me.

©️2023 By Amanda Shelton