Control Letdown

dreams are angels

that lift us on their wings
the enactment of distant fantasy
mutates our thoughts
which become the ground we walk on

vision is abstract
the taste of tomorrow
lingers on the tips
of our tongues
the aftertaste of yesterday
can be bitter or sweet
and sometimes neither

the words we speak
are like butterflies flapping
aimlessly in a dry breeze
colourful, pretty
and sometimes useful

my mind wanders
collecting random thoughts
to be spat out by my pen
or, in this case,
fingers gently tapping this keyboard

if i hoard enough ideas
will my future be guaranteed?

one day i shall tell my children
i could've been
or would've have been
had i spent a little less time in my head

my mind wanders .....