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Blue Clouds, Red Sky

A Poem About Our Dream

By Patrick PoulinPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 2 min read
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Blue clouds

Red Sky

*

It can’t be real

I’m dreaming

I’m fleeting

*

Blue clouds

Red dreams

Red clouds

Flowing downstream

*

Sand flowing through

my hand

Sand falling through

their land

*

A square in a square in a square

Squares falling perpetually into each other

in a furniture store

*

There’s a red sky above the furniture store

Where the roof used to be.

Bombs falling in a furniture store

Blue clouds,

Red fire

*

Furniture floating and falling

Suspended in the air

Frozen in time

Floating through nothing

*

I’m looking down towards the ground

When did I become the half-built table?

When did I become the red sky?

When did I become the bomb?

When did I become the half-built table?

*

When did the roof become invisible?

When did lights shoot through the sky?

*

Blue, Green

Red, Green

Flash infinite night

I close

Eyes close

Sorrowed blinking eyes

*

My body cracking

Crushed under the weight

Eyes in the night sky

Watching over me

*

A shadowy hand crawls over my mouth

I can’t breathe

The hand screams

*

Where were you?

I needed you

I looked everywhere for you

I touch your face

Stroking my own cheek

Our mirror slowly melts

*

Caleidoscope klouds

Flashing hues

Crashing hues

Flashing news

of the end of the world

reds whites and blues

Winds in the leaves

singing the blues

*

Creativity was bred in the dark

(hiding from those awful clouds)

Creativity was bred in the dark

In her mind

Born from a friend

*

She vanished

Her dress flew in the wind at the empty table

Pink clouds rose up behind our empty ghosts

Whispers stained the glass table

Her dress flew in the wind at the empty table

*

Infinite dreams

Mirror chasms

Flowing like streams

Worlds into worlds

*

Red clouds,

Blue sky

Too loud,

Dead eye

*

Nightmares never stop

Infinite terrors

Infinite dreams

My hands scream

As they stroke our cheek

Faces melt into each other

On her pottery table

Blink if you’re awake

blink if you awake

bliinkifyoureawake

blink if you’re aware

*

Her dress flies in the wind

Running from those red clouds

The sky is blue today

Why does that feel strange?

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Patrick Poulin

I am a young writer, actor and filmmaker based in Montreal. I am passionate about art and storytelling. I am a student at McGill University in the Bachelor of Arts program with a major in Literature.

They/Them

instagram: patrick_poulin2001

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