I am fading
Falling through someone else's fantasy
Swallowed by a dream delayed
Escaping reality.
Reaching for a hook and ladder
A rescue pole
A perfect ledge
Held in place by destiny.
I'm a fading fantasy
Played on a Broadway stage
Settling like a humming bird
Planning a nectar dip.
It's too good to be true
It's too real to be a fantasy
I fight my way back
And Muffin calls my name.
Pulled back just in the nick of time... those blueberry muffins always call my name; and ALWAYS pull me back. Falling, fading... and then pulled back - nice journey you portray here. -- Jeff
When I wrote this poem, the last line came from no where. I have a nephew we called Muffin when he was little. Actually, I was hoping these words spoke for you, the reader and Muffin would be what ever it meant to you, as Jerry did. (smile). Many of my poems comes from a voice in my head that speaks for the reader, not me.
Funny, I did the same thing while reading your poem. Fortunately thoughts of it brought me back from dreamland like a barking pup. Or Is Muffin the aroma coming from your toaster?
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