Nullsphere

HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

W.B. Yeats

Every time I lay a word on paper -or in electrons - I am laying down another little piece of my dreams, those realities that are yet to exist and may still vanish into the morning air. It’s getting more and more difficult to put words on the small realities that are threaded into the fabric of my dreams.