Proliferate

Proliferate

Be fruitful, he said.
Well, when words are your seeds,
then poems are your fruit,
your children.
I shall never be barren, no,
not with all of you to keep me company,
to keep me fertile.
My mind rambles on, along the path,
sowing the seeds of imagination,
of dreams.
Dreams that come and go,
dreams that show truth,
no matter how frightening.
Dreams that are no dreams,
but nightmarishly
dreadful.
It is the dreams of flight and fancy,
fantasy that I miss most,
they left me long ago,
with the flight of my heart.
But sometimes the seeds must
fly
away, to plant themselves in someone else’s
heart.

by Kerrie A. Colantonio © March 25, 2003